
Class_TA ! VL 
Book 



THE 



TUSGFLAN DISPUTATIONS 



OF 



CICERO. 



" PHILOSOPHY, THOU CONDUCTOR OF LIFE ! THOU DISCOVERER OF VIRTUE/ 
AND EXPELLER OF VICES ! WHAT HAD NOT ONLY I MYSELF BEEN, BUT TUB" 
WHOLE LIFE OF MAN, WITHOUT YOU ?" — BOOK V. 



PUBLISHED BY 

llVXcGrniness & {^mitli, 

PRINCETON, N.J. ; 

1852; 



*p^ 



f > 



,1 
CONTENTS. 

BOOK I. 

TAGE 

On the Contempt of Death 1 

BOOK II. 
On bearing Pain 81 

BOOK III. 
On Grief of Mind 48 

BOOK IV. 

On other Perturbations of the Mind . » 79 

BOOK V. 
\Vhether Virtue alone be sufficient for a happy Life ... 01 



THE 

TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 



,1 0P 

MARCUS TULLXUS CICERO. 

d 

BOOK I. 

ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 

I. As I am, at length, entirely, or to a great degree, freed from the fatigue 
of defending clients, and the duties of a senator, I have recourse ag; in, 
Brutus, principally by your advice, to those studies which never have been 
out of my mind, although neglected at times, and which after a long inter- 
val I have resumed: and since the reason and precepts of all arts which 
relate to living well, depend on the study of wisdom, which is called philoso- 
phy, I have thought of illustrating this in the Latin tongue ; not because 
philosophy could not be understood in the Greek language, or by Greek 
masters; but it was always ray opinion, that we have been more happy at 
inventing than the Greeks, or that we have improved on whatever we have 
received from them, which they have thought worthy their care and pains : 
for, with regard to manners and economy, family and domestic afftirs, we 
certainly now manage them with more elegance, and better than they did ; 
and our ancestors have, beyond all dispute, formed the republic on better 
laws and customs. What shall 1 say of our military affairs ; in which, as our 
ancestors excelled them much in valour, so more in discipline ? As to those 
things which are attained not by study, but nature, neither Greece, nor any 
nation, is comparable with them ; for with whom was ever that gravity, 
that steadiness, that greatness of soul, probity, faith — such distinguished 
virtue of every kind, as to equal them with ours ? Greece excelled us in learn- 
ing, and all kinds of literature, and it was easy to do so where there was 
no competition ; for amongst the Greeks the poets were the most ancient 
species of learned men. Of these Homer and Hesiod were before the 
foundation of Rome ; Archilochus, in the reign of Romulus. We received 
poetry much later ; Livy gives us a fable near five hundred and ten years 
after the building of Rome, in the consulate of C. Claudius, the son of Caecus, 
and M. Tuditanus, a year before the birth of Ennius, who was older than 
Plautus and Naevius. 

2 



2 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 

II. It was, therefore, late before poets were either known or received 
amongst us; though we find in Cato de Originibus that the guests used to 
sing at their entertainments the praises of famous men, to the sound of the 
flute ; but a speech of Cato's shews the custom to have been in no great 
esteem, as he censures Marcus "Nobilior, for carrying poets with him into 
his province : for that consul, as we know, carried Ennius with him into 
iEtolia. Therefore the less esteem poets were in, the less were tho?e 
studies pursued : not but if, had there been amongst us any of great abili- 
ties that way, they would not have been at all inferior to the Greeks. Do 
we imagine that, had it been commendable in Fabius, a man of the first 
quality, to paint, we should have been without many Polycleti and Paniiasii ? 
Honor nourishes art, and glory is the spur with all to studies ; those 
studies are always neglected, which are a kind of disgrace to any. 
The Greeks held vocal and instrumental music as the greatest erudition, 
and therefore it is recorded of Epaminondas, who, in my opinion, was the 
first man amongst the Greeks, that he played excellently on the flute: Hnd 
Themistocles some years before was deemed ignorant because he refused 
at an entertainment to play on the lyre. For this reason musicians flour- 
ished in Greece ; music was a general study ; and whoever was unacquain- 
ted with it, was not considered as fully instructed in learning. Geometry 
was in high esteem with them, therefore none were more honorable than 
mathematicians : but we have confined this art to bare counting and meas- 
uring. 

III. But on the contrary, we soon entertained the orator ; no ways elo- 
quent at first, but capable enough for an harangue, he soon became elo- 
quent ; for it is reported that Galba, Africnuus, and La?lius, were men of 
learning ; that even Cato was studious, who was an age before them : then 
succeeded the Lepidi, Carbo, and Gracchi, and so many great orators after 
them, even to our times, that we were very little, if at all, inferior to the 
Greeks. Philosophy has been at a low ebb even to this present time, and 
had no assistance from our own language, which I have undertaken to raise 
and illustrate ; so that, as I have been of service to my countrymen, when 
employed in public affairs, I may. if possible, be so to them in my letire- 
ment. In this I must take the more pains, because many books are said to 
be written inaccurately, by excellent men, but not erudite scholars : for in- 
deed it may be that a man may think well, and yet not be able to express h'.s 
thoughts elegantly ; but for any one to publish thoughts which he can nei- 
ther methodize, nor illustrate, nor entertain his reader, is an unpardonable 
abuse of letters and retirement : they, therefore, read their books to one 
another, which were never taken up by any but those who claimed the 
same privilege of writing. Wherefore, if oratory has acquired any repu- 
tation from my application to it, I shall, with more pains, open the foun- 
tains of philosophy, from which flowed all the advantages of the other. 
But, 

IV. As Aristotle, a man of excellent parts, abundant in all knowledge, 
being moved at the glory of the rhetorician Isocrates, commenced teacher 
of youth, and joined philosophy with eloquence : so it is my design not to lay 



OF CICERO. 3 

aside my former study of oratory, and yet employ myself in this greater 
and more fruitful art ; for I always thought, that to be able to speak copi- 
ously and elegantly on the most important questions, was the most consum- 
mate philosophy, to which subject I have so diligently applied myself, that 
I have already ventured to have Disputations like the Greeks. And lately 
when you left us, having many of my friends about me, I attempted at my 
Tusculum what I could do in that way ; for as I formerly practised de- 
claiming, which nobody continued longer than myself, so this is now to be 
the declamation of my old age. I ordered a person to propose something 
he would have discussed : I disputed on that either sitting or walking, and 
have complied the scholae as the Greeks call them, of five days, in as many 
books. It was in this manner : when he who was the hearer had said 
what he thought proper, I disputed against him ; for this is, you know, the 
old and Socratic method of disputing against another's opinion ; for Socrates 
thought the truth might thus the easier be discovered. But to give you a 
better notion of our disputations, I will not barely send you an account of 
them, but represent them to you as they were carried on ; therefore let 
the introduction be thus. 

V. A* To me death seems to be an evil. M. What, to those who are 
already dead ? or- to those who must die ? A. to both. M. It is a misery 
then, because an evil ? A. Certainly. M. Then those who must soon 
die, and those w r ho must die some time or other, are both miserable ? A. 
So it ar pears to me. M. Then all are miserable ? A. Every one. M. 
And, indeed, if you are consistent with yourself, all that are already born, 
or shall be, are not only miserable, but always will be so ; for should you 
maintain those only to be miserable, who must die, you would not except 
any one living, for all must die ; but there should be an end of misery in 
death. But seeing that the dead are miserable, we are born to eternal 
misery, for they must of consequence be miserable who died a hundred 
thousand years ago ; or rather, all that have been born. A. So indeed I 
think, M. Tell me, 1 beseech you, are you afraid of the three-headed 
Cerberus below, the roaring waves of Cccytus, the passage over Acheron, 
Tantalus expiring with thirst, while the water touches his chin ; or Sisy- 
phus, 

Who sweats with arduous toil to gain 

The steepy summit of the mount in vain ? 
Perhaps, too, you dread the inexorable judges, Minos and Rhadamanthus, 
before whom nor Crassus, nor M. Antonius can defend you ; nor, since the 
cause lies before Grecian judges, Demosthenes. But you must plead for 
yourself before a very great assembly : you dread perhaps these, and there- 
fore look on death as an eternal evil. 

VI. A. Do you take me to be mad enough to give credit to such things? 
M. What? do you not believe them? A'. Not in the least. M I am 
sorry to hear that. A. Why, I beg ? M. Because I could have been 
very eloquent in speaking against them. A. And who could not on such 
a subject? or, what occasion is there to refute these monsters- of the poets 
and painters? M. And yet you have books of philosophers full of argu- 



4 THE TUSCULAH DISPUTATIONS 

ments against these. A. Idle enough, truly ! for, who is so weak as to be 
concerned about 1 them ? M. If then there are none miserable in the 
infernal regions, there must be no one there. A. 1 am altogether of that 
opinion. M. Where then are those you call miserable ? or what place do 
they inhabit ? if they are at all, they must be somewhere 1 A. I, indeed, 
am of opinion, they are nowhere. M. Therefore there are none such. 
A. Even so, and yet they are miserable for this very reason, that they are 
not at all. M. I had rather now that you had been afraid of Cerberus, 
than to speak thus inaccurately. A Why so? M. Because you admit 
him to be, who is not: where is your sagacity ? When you say any one 
is miserable, you say such a one is, when he is not. A. I am not so absurd 
as to say that. M. What is it you say then ? A. I sa\ , for instance, that 
Crassus is miserable in being deprived of such great riches by death 
Cn. Pompey was so, in being taken from such glory and honor ; upon the 
whole that all are miserable who are deprived of this light. M. You have 
returned to the same point, for to be miserable implies an existence: but 
you just now denied that the dead had any existence : if they are not, they 
can be nothing; and if so, not miserable. A- Perhaps 1 do not express 
what I mean, for I look upon this very thing, not to exist, after having 
been, to be very miserable. M. What, more so than not to have been at 
all } therefore, those who are not yet born, are miserable because they are 
not; and we ourselves, If we are to be miserable after death, were o 
ble before we were born : but I do not remember 1 ;a.ble before 

I was born; and I should be glad to know, if your memory is better, what 
you recollect of yourself before you were born. 

VII. A. You are pleasant; as if I had said, they are miserable who are 
not born, and that they are not so who are dead. M. You say then thi.t 
they are so ? A. Yes, because they are most miserable not to be, after 
they have been. M. You do not observe, that you assert contradk 
for what i3 a greater contradiction, than that that should be not only 
rable, but should be at all, which is not ? When you go out at the Capene 
gate and see the tombs of the Catalini, the Scipios, Servilii, and Metelli, do 
you look on them as miserable? ^4, Because you distress me with a word, 
henceforward I will not say they are miserable in general, but miserable 
for this, that they are not. jlf. You do not say then M. Crassus is miser- 
able, but ouly miserable M. Crassus. A. Evidently so. M. As if it did 
not follow, that whatever you declare in that manner, either is or is not. 
Are you not acquainted with the first principles of logic ? for this is the 
first thing they lay down, whatever is asserted, (for so I render the Greek 
term, a?/ W |xa> I may express it otherwise when I shall find a better.) is 
therefore asserted, because it is either true or false. When, therefore, 
you say miserable M. Crassus, you either say this, that Iff. Crassus is mis- 
erable, so that some judgment may be made whether it be true or false, or 
you say nothing. A. Well then, [ now own that the dead are not misera- 
ble, since you have drawn from me a concession, that they who are not at 
all, cannot be miserable. What then ? we that are alive, are we not 
wretched, seeing we must die ? for what is there agreeable in life, when 
we must night and day reflect that we may instantly die ? 



OF CICERO. 5 

VIII. M. Do you not then perceive how great an evil you have delivered 
human nature from? A. By what means? M. Because, if to die is 
miserable to the dead, to live would be a kind of infinite and eternal mise- 
ry : now I see a goal, which when I have reached, there is nothing more 
to feared ; but you seem to me to follow the opinion of Epicharmus, a man 
of some discernment and sharp enough for a Sicilian. A. what opinion? 
for I do not recollect it. M. I will tell you if I can in Latin, for you know 
I am no more used to bring in Latin sentences in a Greek discourse, than 
Greek in a Latin one. A. And that is right enough: but what is that opin- 
ion of Epicharmus ? 

M. I would not die,but yet 

Am not concerned that I shall be dead. 
A. I now recollect the Greek, but since you have obliged me to grant that 
the dead are not miserable, proceed to convince me that it is not miserable 
to be under a necessity of dying. M. That is easy enough, but I have 
greater things in hand. A. How comes that to be so easy ? and what are 
those things of more consequence? M. Thus : because, if there is no evil 
after death, death itself can be none ; for what succeeds that immediately, 
is a state where you grant there is no evil ; so that to be obliged to die can 
be no evil ; for that is to arrive there wheie we allow no evil is. A. I beg 
you will be more explicit on this, for these subtle arguments force me sooner 
to a concession than conviction; but what are those more important things 
you undertake ? M. To teach you, if I can, that death is not only no evil, 
but a good. A. I do not insist on that, but should be glad to hear, for should 
you not prove your point, yet you may prove that death is no evil; but I 
will not interrupt you, I should like to hear a continued discourse. M. 
What, if 1 should ask you a question, would you not answer? A. That 
would have pride in it; but I would rather you should not ask but where 
necessity requires. 

IX. M. I will comply with you, and explain as well as 1 can, what you re- 
quire butnotlike the Pythian Apollo, that what I tay must be infallible ; but as 
a mere man, endeavoring at probabilities, by conjecture, for I have no 
ground to proceed further on, than probability, Let them deal in demon- 
strations, who say, they can perceive things as they are, and who proclaim 
themselves philosophers, by profession. A. Do as you please, we are 
ready to hear you. M. The first thing is to enquire, what death, which 
seems to be so well known, is; for some imagine death to be the separation 
of the soul from the body ; some that there is no such separation, but that 
soul and body perish together, and that the soul is extinguished with the 
body. Of those who admit of the soul's separation, some are for its imme- 
diate departure, some that it continues a time, others for ever : there is 
great dispute even to what the soul is, where it is, and whence it is deriv- 
ed : with some, the heart itself seems to be the soul, hence the expres- 
sions, out of heart, bad-hearted, and of one heart; and that prudent Nasica, 
twice consul, was called Corculus, i, e. wise heart; and iElius Sextus, a 
man of noble heart. Empedocles imagines the heart's blood to be the soul ; 
with others, a certain part of the brain seems to oe the throne of the soul; 



6 TEE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 

others neither allow the heart nor a certain part of the brain to be the soul ; 
but some would have the heart to be the seat and mansion of the soul ; 
others, the brain. Some would have the soul, or spirit, to be air, as we 
generally do; the name signifying as much, for we say to breathe, to ex- 
pire, to be animated, dec., and the Latin word for the spirit implies breath. 
The soul seems to Zeno, the Stoic, to be fire. But what I have said of 
the heart's blood, &h' } and fire, are general opinions : the rest almost singu- 
lar, of which there were formerly many amongst the ancients. 

X. The latest is Aristcxenus, both musician and philosopher; he main- 
tains a certain intension of the body, like what is called harmony in music, 
to be the soul. Thus, from the figure and nature of the body, various mo- 
tions are excited, as sounds from an instrument. He stuck close to his 
profession, and yet he said something, whatever it was, which had been 
said and explained a great while before by Plato. Xenocrates denied that 
the soul had any figure, or any thing like matter ; but said it was a number, 
the power of which, as Pythagoras thought, some ages before, was the 
greatest in nature : his master, Plato, had imagined a three-fold soul ; the 
chief i. e. reason, he had lodged in the head, as in a tower: and being 
willing to separate the other two, he placed anger in the breast, and desire 
under the pnecordia. But Dica?archus, in a discourse of some learned dis- 
putants, held at Corinth, which he gives us in three books : in the first of 
which he makes many speakers ; in the other two he introduces a certain 
Pherecrates, an old man of Phthios, who, as he said, was descended from 
Deucalion : asserting, that there is in fact no soul : and that it is a name, with- 
out a meaning ; and that it is idle to say, animals, or animated ; that neither 
men nor beasts have miuds or souls: and all that power, by which we act 
or perceive, is equally infused into every living creature, and is inseperable 
from the body, for it then would be nothing; nor is theie any tiling besides 
one simple body, so fashioned, as to live and have its sensation, from the 
temperature of nature. Aristotle, superior to all, both in parts and indus- 
try, (I always except Plato.) having embraced these four known sorts of 
principles, from which all things deduce their original, imagines there is a 
certain fifth nature, from whence comes the soul : for to think, to foresee, 
to learn, to teach, to invent any tiling, and many others; as, to remember, 
to love, to hate, desire, to fear, to be pleased or displeased ; these, and such 
like, are, he thinks, in none of those four kinds: he adds a fifth kind, which 
has no name, and thus by a new name he calls the soi.. » as it were 

a certaiu continued and perpetual motion. 

XI. If I have not forgotten, these are all the opinions concerning the 
soul. I have omitted Democritns, a very great man indeed, but who de- 
duces the soul from the fortuitous concourse of light and round corpu- 
as with them, the crowd of atoms can ry tiling. Which of these 

opinions is true, some god must determine : the great question with i 
which has Che most appea truth: shall we determine between 

them: or return to our I could wish both, if possible ; but it 

is difficult to mix them : therefore, if without a discussion of them we can 
get rid ot the fears of death, let us proceed to do so ; but if this is not to be 



OF CICERO. i 

done without explaining the question about souls, let us have that now, the 
other another time. M. I take that to be best, which I perceive you are 
inclined to ; for reason will evince, that let either of the opinions I have 
stated be true, death cannot be an evil : for, if either the heart, the bloody 
or brain, be the soul, certainly, as corporeal, it will perish with the rest of 
the body; if ;t should be air, it will be dispersed ; if fire, extinguished ; if 
Aristoxenus's harmony, disconcerted. What shall 1 say of Dicserchus, 
who denies there is any soul ? In all these opinions, there is nothing to af- 
fect any one after death ; for all feeling is lost with life, and where there is 
no sensation, nothing can interfere to affect us. The opinions of others- 
are charged with hope; if it is any pleasure to you to think, that souls, af- 
ter they leave the body, may go to heaven as their abode. A. 1 have great 
pleasure in that thought, and it is what I most desire; but should it not be 
so, I still am very willing to believe it. 3L What occasion have you then 
for my assistance ? am I superior to Plato in eloquence ? Turn over care- 
fully his book that treats of the soul, you will have there all you can want. 
A. I have indeed done that, and often ; but I know not how, I allow of it 
whilst I am reading ; but when I lay down the book, and begin to reflect 
with myself on the immortality of the soul, that conviction vanishes. M. 
How comes that ? do you admit that souls exist after death, or that they 
perish in death ? A. I agree to that. 31. What if they should exist? 
A. I allow themhappy. M. If they perish? A. I cannot think they are- 
unhappy, because they have no existence. You drove me to that conces- 
sion but just now. M. How then can you maintain any suspicions of death 
being a misery, which either makes us happy, the soul continuing; or not 
unhappy, as void of all sensation ? 

XII. A. Explain therefore, if it is not troublesome, first, if you can, that 
souls exist; then, should you fail in that, for it is very difficult, that death is 
free of all evil ; for I am not without my fears, that this itself is an evil ; I 
do not say, the immediate deprivation of sense, but, that we shall be depriv- 
ed. M. I have the best authority in support of the opinion you desire to 
have established, which ought, and generally has, great weight in all cases. 
And first, I have all antiquity 1 - on.that side; which the nearer it is to its ori- 
gin and divine descent, possibly by that discerns truth the clearer: this very 
thing, then, was adopted by all those ancients, whom Ennius calls, in the 
Sabine tongue, Casci; that in death there was a sensation, and that, whe» 
men departed this life, they were not so entirely destroyed, as to perish 
absolutely. And this may appear, as from many other things, so from the 
pontifical rites, and funeral obsequies, which men of the best sense would 
not have been so solicitous about, nor fencedfrom any injury with such severe- 
laws, but from a firm persuasion, that death was not so entire a destruction- 
as to leave nothing remaining, but a certain transmigration, as it were, and 
change of life ; which usually conveyed the illustrious of both sexes into 
heaven, confining others to the earth, but so as still to exist. From this 
and the sentiments of the Romans, 

In heaven Romulus with gods now lives, 
Ennius saith, on common report: hence Hercules is held .so great and pro- 



8 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 

pitious a god amongst the Greeks, from whom we received him, as he is 
also by those who inhabit the borders of the ocean. Hence Bacchus was 
deified, the offspring of Semele ; and from the same illustrious fame we 
receive Castor and Pollux, as gods, who are reported not only to have helped 
the Romans to victory in their battles, but to have been the messengers of 
their success. What? Tno, the daughter of Cadmus, is she not called 
Leucothea, by the Greeks, and Matuta, by us? What? is not all heaven 
(not to dwell on particulars) filled, as it were, with the offspring of men ? 

XIII. Should I attempt to search into antiquity, and produce from thence, 
what the Greek writers have asserted ; it would appear that even those who 
are called their principal gods, went from hence into heaven ; examine tli9 
sepulchres of them which are shewn in Greece; recollect, as you are ini 
tiated, what is delivered in the mysteries ; then will you perceive how 
extensive this doctrine is. Bnt they who were not acquainted with physics, 
(for they began to be in vogue many ages after,) had no higher conviction 
than what natural reason could give them ; they were not in possession of 
the reason and cause of things ; they were often induced by certain visions, 
and those generally in the night, to think that they were still alive, who had 
departed from this life. And this may further be brought as an irrefragable 
argument, that there are gods, in that there never was any nation so bar- 
barous, not a single instance of thatsavageness, as to be without some notion 
of gods : many have wrong notions of the gods, which may proceed from 
bad customs, yet all allow there is a certain divine nature and energy ; nor 
doth this proceed from conversing together, or consent of parties ; it is not 
an opinion established by law : and in every case the consent of all nations 
is to be looked on as a law of nature. Who is there then that does not 
lament the loss of his friends, principally from imagining them deprived of 
the conveniences of life ? Take away this opinion, and you remove with 
it all grief; for no one grieves on his own account. Perhaps we may be slight- 
ly affected, and uneasy ; but that bitter lamentation, and those bewailing 
tears, have their cause from our apprehensions, that he, whom we loved, 
is deprived of the advantages of life, and is sensible of it. And we are led 
to this opinion by nature, without learning, or the deductions of reason. 

XIV. But the greatest argument is, that nature herself gives a silent 
judgment in favour of the immortality of the soul, in that all are anxious, 
and greatly so, in what relates to futurity : 

One plants, what future ages shall enjoy, 
as Statius saith, in his Synephebi. What has he an eye to in this, but that 
he is interested in posterity ? Shall the industrious husbandman then plant 
trees, the fruit of which he shall never see 1 and shall not the great man found 
laws, institutes, a republic? What doth the procreation of children imply? the 
continuing a name — adoptions — the exactness in writing wills ? what the in- 
scriptions on monuments, or elogies ? but that our thoughts run on futurity ? 
There is no doubt but a judgment may be formed of nature in general, from those 
of the best natural disposition ; and what is a better natural disposition in man. 
than those discover, who look on themselves born for the protection, preservation, 
and assistance of others ? Hercules went to heaven ; he never had gone thither, 



OF CICEftO. 9 

had he not, whilst amongst men, secured that road to. himself. — These are of old 
date, and have, besides, the sanction of religion. 

XV. What, do you imagine so many and such great men of our republic, who 
have sacrificed their lives for its good, thought that their names should not con- 
tinue beyond their lives 1 None ever encountered death for their country, but 
under a firm persuasion of immortality ! Themistocles might . have lived at his 
ease ; so might Epaminondas ; and, not to look abroad for instances and amongst 
the ancients, I myself might. But, I know not how, there adheres to our minds a 
certain presage of future ages ; and this both exist most, and appears clearest, in 
men of the best parts, and greatest souls. Take away this, and who is so mad as 
to spend his life amidst toils and dangers 1 I speak of those in power. What 
were the peet's views but to be ennobled after death 1 Whence then have we, 

Behold old Ennius here, who erst 
Thy fathers' great exploits rehears'd. 
He challenged the reward of glory from those whose ancestors he had ennobled, 
And thus the same poet, 

Let none with tears my funeral grace, for I 

Claim from my works an immortality. 
Why do I mention poets ? the very mechanics are desirous of fame after death : 
why did Phidias include a model of himself, in the shield of Minerva, when ho 
was not allowed to inscribe his name on it? What did our philosophers mean, 
when they put their names to those very books they wrote on the contempt of 
glory 1 If, then, universal consent is the voice of nature, and it is the general 
opinion every where, that those who have quitted this life, are still interested in 
something ; we must subscribe to that opinion. And if we think men of the 
greatest abilities and virtue see clearest into nature, as her most perfect work ; it is 
very probable as every great man endeavours most for the public good, that there 
is something he will be sensible of after death. 

XVI. But as we naturally think there are gods, and what they are, we discover 
by reason ; so, by the consent of nations, we are induced to believe, that our souls 
survive ; but where their habitation is, and what they are, must be learned from 
reason ; the want of which knowledge has given rise to the infernals, and birth to 
those fears which you seem, not without reascn, to despise : for our bodies falling 
to the ground, and being covered with earth, from whence they are said to be in- 
terred, have occasioned them to imagine that the dead continue, the remainder of 
their existence, under ground ; which opinion of theirs has drawn after it many 
errors ; which the poets have increased ; for the theatre, crowded with women and 
children, has been greatly affected on hearing these pompous verses, 

Lo ! here I am, who scarce could gain this place, 

Thro' stony mountains, and a dreary waste ; 

Thro' clifts, whose sharpened stones tremendous hung, 

Where dreadful darkness spread itself around : 
and the reror prevailed so much, which indeed at present seems to me to be re- 
moved, that although they knew the bodies were burned, yet they conceived such 
things to be done in the infernal regions, as could not be executed or imagined 
without a body ; for they could not apprehend, how unbodied souls could exist ; 
and therefore, they looked out for some shape or figure. From hence all that 
account of the dead in Homer ; hence my friend Appius framed his Necromancy ; 
hence the lake of Avernus, in ray neighborhood ; 

3 



10 THB TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 

From whence the souls of undistinguished shape, 

No mortal blood, rush frcm the open gate 

Of Acheron, and to this world escape. 
And they must needs have these appearances speak, which is not possible, withou 
a tongue, a palate, jaws, without the help of lungs and sides, or without seme shape 
or figure ; for they could see nothing by their mind alone, they referred all to their 
eyes. To withdraw the mind from sensual objects, and abstract our thoughts 
from what we are accustomed to, is the property of a great genius : I am persua- 
ded there were many such in former ages : but Fherecydes, the Syrian, is the first 
on reeord, who said that the souls of men were immortal ; he was of great an- 
tiquity, in the reign of my namesake Tullus. His disciple, Pythagoras, greatly 
confirmed this opinion, who came into Italy, in the reign of Tarquin the Proud ;. 
and all that country which is called Great Greece, was held by hirn in honour and 
discipline, and under great submission to his authority ; and the Pythagorean sect 
was many ages after in so great credit, that all learning was confined to that 
name. 

XVII. But I return to the ancients : They scarce ever gave any reason fcr their 
opinion, bnt what could be explained by numbers and characters. It is reported 
of Plato, that he came into Italy, to acquaint himself with the Pythagoreans; and 
that when there, amongst others, he made an acquaintance with Archytas and 
Timaeus, and learned from them all the tenets of the Pythagoreans : that he not 
only was of the same opinion with Pythagoras, concerning the immortality of the 
soul, but he brought reasons in support of it ; which, if yon have nothing to say 
against it, I will pass over, and drop all this hope of immortality. A. "What 
will you leave me, when you have raised my expectations so high ? I had rather, 
so help me Hercules, be mistaken with Plato, whom I know how much you esteem, 
and whom I admire, from what you say of him, than be in the right with them. 
M. I comprehend you : for indeed, I could myself willingly be mistaken with 
him. Do we then doubt of this as of other things 1 though I think here > 
little room for doubt ; for the mathematicians assure us, that the earth is place in 
the midst of the world, as it were a point; which they call surrounded 

by the whole heavens : and that such is the nature of the four principles of all 
things, that they have equally divided amongst them, the constituents of all bodies^ 
That earthly and humid bodies are carried at . ;.eir own j 

sity and weight, into the earth and sea ; the other two parts are of tire and air. 
As the two former ate carried by t 1 and weight, into the middle region 

of the world; so these, on the other hand, ascend by right lines, into the celestial 
regions; either naturally endeavouring at the highest place, or that lighter 
are naturally repelled by heavier, which being the case, it must evidently - 
souls, admitting them to be animals, i. e. to breathe, or of the nature of fire, must 
mount upwards: but should the soul be a no . with 

more subtlety than clearness ; or that fifth nature, rather without in not 

understood ; still it is too pure and perfect, not to arrive at a great distance frcm 
the earth. Something of this sort. then, the soul is, that so activ< 
should not lie immerged in the heart or bruin ; or, as Empedocles would have it. 
in the blood. 

X\ III. We will pass over I'icrearchus. with his contemporary and fellow-disci- 
ple Aristoxenus, both indeed men of learning. One of them seems never to have 
been affected with grief, as he could not perceive that he had a soul ; the other \m 



OF CICERO. 11 

so pleased with his musicel compositions, that he endeavours to shew an analogy 
betwixt them and souls. We may understand harmony to arise from the intervals 
of sounds, whose various compositions occasion many harmonies ; but I do not 
see how a disposition of members, and the figure of a body without a soul, can 
occasion harmony ; he had better, learned as he is, leave this to his master Aris- 
totle, and follow his trade, as a musician ; good advice is given' him in that Greek 
proverb, 

Apply your talents where you best are skilled. 
I will have nothing at all to do with that fortuitous concourse of individual light, 
and round corpuscles, notwithstanding Demoeritus insists on their beinc warm, 
and having breath, i. e. life. But this soul, should it consist of either of the four 
principles, from which we deduce all things, is of inflamed air, as seems particu- 
larly to have been the opinion of Panajtius, and must necessarily mount upwards, 
for air and fire have no tendency downwards, and always ascend: so should they 
be dissipated, that must be at some distance from the earth ; but should they re- 
main, and preserve their state, it is clearer still that they must be carried heaven- 
ward ; and this gross and concrete air, which is nearest the earth, must be divided 
and broke by them ; for the soul is wanner, or rather hotter than that air, which I 
just now called gross and concrete ; which is evident from this, that our bodies 
compounded of the terrene kind of principles, grow- warm by the heat of the soul. 

XIX. I add, that the soul may the easier escape from this air, which I have 
often named, aud break through it ; because nothing is swifter than the soul ; no 
swiftness is comparable to that of the soul ; which, should it remain uncorrupt, 
and without alteration, must necessarily be carried with that velocity, as to pene- 
trate and divide all this region, where clouds, and rain, and winds are formed ; 
which by means of exhalations from the earth, is moist and dark^which region, 
when the soul has once got above, and falls in with, and perceives a nature like 
its own, being compounded of thin air, and a moderate solar heat, it rests with 
these fires, and endeavours no higher flight. For when it has attained a lightness 
and heat like its own. it moves no more, balanced as it were between two equal 
weights. That then is its natural seat where it has penetrated to something like 
itself; where, wanting nothing else, it may be supported and maintained by the 
aliments, which nourish and maintain the stars. As we are used to be incited to 
all sorts of desires, by the stimulus of the body, and the more so, as we envy those 
who are in possession of what we long for, we shall certainly be happy, when 
with this body we get rid of these desires and provocatives ; which is our case at 
present, when, dismissing all other cares, we curiously examine and look into any 
thing ; which we shall then do with greater ease; and employ ourselves entirely 
in viewing and considering things ; because there is naturally in our minds a 
certain insatiable desire of seeing truth ; and the very region itself, where we 
shall arrive, as it gives us a more intuitive view cf celestial things, will raise eur 
desires after knowledge. For this beauty of the heavens, even here on earth, 
gave birth to that philosophy, which Theophrastus calls an inheritance, both from 
father and mother; greatly raised by a desire of knowledge. But they will in a 
particular manner enjoy this, who, whilst inhabitants of this world, enveloped in 
darkness, were desirous of looking into these things with the eye of their mind. 

XX. For if they now think thay have attained something, who have 
seen the mouth of the Pontus, and those straits which were passed by the 
ship called Argo, because, 



12 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 

From Argos she did chosen men convey, 

Bound to fetch back the golden fleece their prey. 
Or they, who saw the straits of the ocean, 

Where the swift waves divide the neighboring shores 

Of Europe and of Afnc. 

What kind of sight, thin, do yo. that to be, when the whole 

earth is viewed ? not only in its position, form, and boundaries ; thoie parts 
of it that are habitable, but those also that lie cultivated, through the ex- 
tremities of heat and cold : for what we now see we do no h our 
eyes ; for body itself has no sensation : but as the naturalists, Day, even the 
physicians assure us, who have opened our bodies, aud examined them, 
there are certain perforated canals, from the seat of the soul to the eyes 
ears, and nose ; so that frequently, when either prevented by meditation, 
or the force of some bodily disorder, we neither hear nor see, though our 
eyes and ears are open, and in good condition ; so that we may easily ap- 
prehend that it is the soul that sees and hears ; not those parts, which are 
but windows to the soul ; by means of which the soul can perceive nothing, 
unless she is on the spot, and exerts herself. How shall we account, that 
by the same power of thin! difficult things; 
as color, taste, heat, smell, and sound? which the soul could never know 
by her five messengers, unless every thing red to it, aud si; 
sole judge of all. And we shall certain 'y discover these things, clearer, 
and more perfect, when the sot shall arrive 
there, where nature leads ; for at pres 

trived, with the greatest skill, those canals l 'o the 

soul; yet are they, in some way or other, op with concrete and 

terrene bodies: but when we shall be nothing but soul, nothing will inter- 
fere, to prevent our seeing every tbil 

XXI. It is true. I might expatiate, did the subject require it. on the ma- 
ny and various objects the soul will be entertained with in those heavenly 
regions ; when I reflect on which, I am apt to wouder at the boldness of 
some philosophers, who are so struck with the knowledge of nature, as to 
thank, in an exulting manner, the first inventor of natural philosophy, and 
reverence him as a god: for they declare themselves freed, by his □ 
from the greatest tyrants, a perpetual terror, and a fear that molested them, 
by night and day. What is this dread ? this fear ? what old won 
so weak as to fear these things, which you, forsooth, had you not been ac- 
quainted with physics, would stand in awe of? 

The hnllow'd roofs of Acheron, the dread 

Of Oreus, and the pale sejour of the dead. 
And doth it become a philosopher to boast that he is d .'these, and 

has discovered them to be false? Hence we may know how acute 
were by nature, who, without learning, ha to these things. They 

have gained, I know not what, who 1: 1. that when they die, they 

shall perish entirely; which being admitted, f r 1 say nothing to it. what 
is there agreeable or glorious in it? Not that I see any reason why Py- 
thagoras and Plato's opinion might not bo true : but should Plato have as- 



OP CICEEO. 13 

signed do reason, (observe how much I esteem the man,) the weight of his 
authority would have borne me down ; but he has brought so many rea- 
sons, that, to me. he appears to have endeavored to convince others ; him- 
self he certainly did. 

XXII. But there are many who labour the other side of the question, 
and condemn souls to death, as capitally convicted ; nor have they any better 
argument, against the eternity of the soul, than their notbeiug able to conceive 
a soul without a body ; as if they could really conceive, what it is in the bo- 
dy ; its form, size, and seut : that were they able to have a full view of all 
that is now hid from them in a living body, the soul would be discernible 
by them ; or, is it of so fine a contexture as to evade their sight ? Let those 
consider this, who i eny they can form auy idea of the soul, without the 
body, if they can conceive what it is in the body. As to my own part, 
when [ reflect on the nature of the soul, I am more distressed to conceive 
what it is in the body, a place that doth not belong to it, than what it is when 
it. leaves it, and is arrived at the free aether, its own habitation, as it were. 
Could we apprehend nothing but what we see, certainly we could form 
no notion of God, nor of the divine soul, freed from body. Dicaearchus in 
deed, and Aristoxenus, because it was hard to understand the soul, and its 
properties, asserted there was no sou!. It is indeed the most difficult thing 
imaginable, to discern the soul, by the soul. And this, doubtless, is the 
meaning of the precept of Apollo, which advises every one to know him- 
self. 1 do not apprehend his intention to have been, that we should iufo \m 
ourselves of our members, our stature, and make ; nor doth self imply our 
bodies ; nor do I, who speak thus to you, address myself to your body : 
when, therefore, he saith, "Know yourself,"' he saith this, inform yourself 
of the nature of your soul: for the body is but a kind of vessel, or re- 
ceptacle of the soul ; whatever your soul doth, is jour own act. To know 
the soul, then unless it had been divine, would not have been a precept 
of that excllent wisdom, as to be attributed to a god ; but should the soul 
not know what itself is, will yon say that it doth not perceive itself to 
be ? that it has motion ? on which is founded that reason of Plato's, which 
is explained by S Phaedrus, i in mr sixth book 

of the Republic. 

XXIII. Tiiat which is always moved, is eternal: but that which gives 
motion to another, and is moved itself from some other cause, when that 
motion ceases, mast necessarily cease to exist That, then alone, which 
is self-moved, because it is never forsaken by itself, must continue to be al- 
ways moved. Besides, it is the fountain and beginning of motion to every 
th ng else: but whatever is first, has no beginning, for all things arise from 
that first; itself cannot owe its rise to any thing else : for it would not be 
the first, had it proceeded from any thing else. If it had no beginning, it 
never will have end ; for the original being extinguished, itself cannot be 
restored from any thing else, nor produce any thing from itself; inasmuch 
as all things must necessarily arise from that first cause. Thus it comes 
about, that the beginning of motion must arise from itself, because it is it- 
self moved by itself: and that can neither have a beginning, nor cease to be ; 



14 TEE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 

otherwise the whole heavens would be overset, audall nature stand still nor, be 
abletoacquire any force, by the impulse of which it might be first set in motion. 
Seeing then it is clear, that whatever moves itself, is eternal: can there be 
any doubt that the soul is so ? for that is inanimate, which is moved by an 
external force : but every animal is moved by an interior force, and it 
For this is the peculiar nature and power of the soul : which, if it be the prcp- 
perfy df the soul alone to have self- motion, certainly it never had a begi 
and is eternal. Should all the lower order of philosophers, for so I think they 
m::v be called, who dissent from PI; 
their force : they never would be able to explain any ttaii 
even understand how artfully this cm-elusion is drawn. The soul then 
ves itself to have morion, md with that perception is sensible that it 
is moved, by its own, and : and it is hn| 

itself: from wh 

\ eiy we'd pleas- 
i thought arise in my uchiucliued 

to that opinion. 

XXTV. M. I appeal to yon. if these arguments that prove there is 
something divine in the soul, are m t as strong? which divine properties, 
coal I I account how they began, I might also how they m :o be ; 

for I think T can account how ti vetns. 

all the limbs, and sh -v reted and made : nay, 

the s-)iil itself, were there nothing more in it than a principle of life, 
be put upon the - x vine or tree, and accounted for as i 

ally: for these, as we say. live. vere desires and avers; 

that be 'he soul, they are but in common with the ut it 

has. in the first place, memory, and thnt so infinite, as to retain number- 
less things, which Plato would have to be a recollection of a former life: 
for in that book which is inscribed Meson, Socrates asks a child some ques- 
tions in geometry, of measuring a square : his Bi -uch as a child 
would make, and yet his questions are so easy, tint, answering them, one 
by one, he is as ready, as if he had learned geometry. From whence So- 
crates wnv it learning imj i ^collection, which he ex- 
plains more accurately, in the discoir - the very day he died : for 
any one entirely illiterate, to answer a question well, that is proposed to 
him. manifestly shews that he doth not learn it ihen, but re«oIlect~ 
his memory. Nor is it accountable any other way. how children come to 
have notions of so many and such important I re implanted, c 
were sealed up in their minds : which the Greeks call common noti 
the soul before it entered tl ^d with ki 
for he holds that not * that 
aloue to be. whicl c the sair. 
quality. The sonl. ih -over, but 

it with it. what i 
extensive knowledge ; nor 

resort I :blesome and unusual dwelling : but afrer having refh 

and recollected its by Its memory recovers the: 1 : re to 



or cicero. 15 

learn, implies only to recollect. But I am in a particular manner surprised 
at memory ; for what is that by which we remember ? what is its force? 
what its nature ? I am not inquiring, how great a memor\ Simonides may 
be said to have had; how great Theodectt s; how great that Cineas, who 
came ambassador here from Pyrrhus ; or lately, Charmadas; or very lately 
Sceptius Metrodorus; how great our Hortensius : I speak of common me- 
mory, and principally of those, who are employed in any considerable stu- 
dy or art, of the capacity of whose minds it is hard to judge, the^ remem- 
bered so many things. 

XXV". Should you ask what this leads to 7 I think we may understand 
what that power is, (for Plato constantly maintains the body to be nothing,) 
and whence we have it. It certa nly proceeds neither from the heart, nor 
blood, nor brain, nor atoms ; whether it be air or fire, I know not; nor am 
I, like those, ashamed to own where I am ignorant, that I am so. Were 
it possible to determine in any doubtful affair, I would swear that the soul, 
be it air or fire, is divine. What? 1 beseech you, can you imagine so 
great a power of memory to be sown in, or be of the composition of earth? 
or this dark and gloomy atmosphere ? Though you cannct apprehend what 
it is, yet you see what kind of thing it is, or f not that, yet you certainly 
see how great it is. What then ? shall we imagine, there is a kind of mea- 
sure in the soul, into which, as into a vessel, all we remember is poured ? 
that indeed is absurd. How shall we form any idea of the bottom, or any 
of such a shape or fashion of the soul ? or how any at all of its holding so 
much? Shall we imagine the soul to receive impressions like wax, and 
memory to be marks of the impressions made on the soul? What are 
the characters of words, what of things themselves ? or where is that pro- 
digious immensity as to give impressions to so many things? What, 
lastly, is that power which discovers, and is called invention? Doth 
he seem to be compounded of this earthly, mortal, and perishing na- 
ture, who first invented names for every thing, which with Pytha- 
goras is the highest pitch of wisdom ? or he, who collected the dispersed 
inhabitants of the world, and called them together into social life? or he, 
who confined the sounds of the voice, which are infinite, to the marks of a few 
letters ? or who observed the courses of the planets, their progressive mo- 
tions, their laws ? These were all great men ; but they were greater still, 
who invented food, raiment, houses; who introduced civility amongst us, 
and armed us against the wild beasts; by whom being civilized and polish- 
ed, we proceeded from the necessaries of life to its embellishments For 
we have provided great entertainments for the ears, by inventing mid quali- 
fying the variety and nature of sounds. Wo view the stars, as well those 
that are fixed, as those which are called improperly wandering. The 
soul that is acquainted with their revolutions and motions, acquaints 
itself that it is like his, who devised these stars in the heavens : f 0; - 
when Archimedes described in a sphere the motion of the moon, sun, and 
five planets, he did the same as Plato's god, in hisTimams, who made tho 
world ; he adjusted motions of different slowness, and velocities, in one 



16 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 

circle. Now allowing that what we see in the world, could cot be effect- 
ed without a god, Archimedes could not have imitated the same motions, 
in his sphere, without a divine soul. 

XXVI. To me. indeed, it appeals, that those studies which are more 
known, and in greater esteem, are not without some divine energy : so that 
I scarce think a poet who produces an approved poem, to be without sane 
divine impulse on his mind ; or that oratory, abounding with sonorous words, 
and fruitful sentences, could flow thus, without some greater force. What 
then is philosophy ? which is the parent of all arts, but as Plato saith, a gift, 
as I express it, an invention of the gods ? This taught us, fiist, the worship 
of them ; then justice, which arises fiom men's being formed into society ; 
next modesty, and elevation of soul. Philosophy dispersed darkness from 
our souls, as it were from our eyes, enabling us to see all things that are 
above or below; the beginning, end, and middle of every thing. I am con- 
vinced entirely, that what could effect so many, and such great things, must 
be divine. For what is a memory of words and thiugs ? what also i 

tion ? even that than which nothing greater can be conceived in a god! for 
I do not imagine the gods to he delighted v. : with 

Juventas presenting them with a cup ; njr do I pay any attention to Homer, 
who said that Ganymede was carried away by the gods, on account of his 
beauty, to give Jove his drink. Too v. . Laomedon such 

injury! Th of Homer, ,eiro- 

•; ions of men. I wish he had given : 
Chose perfections I mean of u„i; terrupted healtl mem- 

ory. The efore the soul ifl r as Euripides more boldly 

expresses it, a god. Aud thus, if the divinity be air or fire, the s< ul of man 
is the same : for as that celestial nature has nothing earthly or humid, so 
the soul of man is also void of all these : but if it is of that certain fifth na- 
ture, first introduced by Aristotle, both gods an ;e. 

XXVII. As this is my opinion, I have explained it in these very words, 
in my book of Consolation. The origiu of the soul of man is not to be 
found in any thing earthly, for there is nothing in the soul mixt or concrete, 
or that has any appearance of being formed or made out of the earth ; 
nothing even humid, airy, fiery : for what is there in such like natures, that 
has the pow T er of memory, understanding, or thought ? that can recollect 
the past; foresee future things ; and comprehend the present ? which are 
divine properties alone ; nor can we discov men could have 

but from God There is therefore a peculiar nature aud power io the soul, 
distinct from those natures, more known and familiar to us. What 
then that is, which thinks, which has understand. ng, volition, and a princi- 
ple of life, is heavenly and divine, and ou that account must necessarily be 
eternal: nor can God himself, who is known to us, be conceiveu 
than a soul free and unembarrassed, distinct from all i a, ac- 

quainted with every thing, and g th per- 

petual mo; 

XXVtII. Of this kind and nature is the soul of man. Should you be 
asked then, what this soul is ? where is your own ? or what is it ? what 



OF CICEKO. 17 

answer can I make ? If I have not faculties for knowing all that I couid 
desire to know, yon will allow me. I hope, to make use of those I have. The 
soul is not equal to the discerning of itself; yet the soul, like the eye, though 
it has no reflex view of itself, sees other things : it doth not see (which is 
of least consequence) its own shape ; perhaps not; though it possibly may ; 
but we will pass that by : but it certainly sees that it has vigour, sagacity, 
memory, motion, velocity ; these are all great, divine, eternal properties;^ 
What its appearance is, or where it dwells, is not matter of inquiry, y As 
when we behold, first the lucid appearance of the heavens ; then, the vast 
velocity of its revolutions, beyond the imagination of our thought; the 
vicissitudes of nights and days; the four-fold division of the seasons, adapt- 
ed to the ripening of the fruits of the earth, and the temperature of our 
bodies ; and then look up to the sun, the moderator and governor of all 
these ; view the moon, by the increase and decrease of its light, marking as 
it were, and appointing our holy days ; and see the five planets, carried in 
the same circle, divided into twelve parts, preserving invariably the same 
courses, with dissimilar motions amongst themselves ; and the nightly ap- 
pearance of the heaven, adorned on all sides with stars : then, the globe of 
the earth, raised above the sea, placed in the centre of the universe, in- 
habited and cultivated in its two opposite extremities ; one of them, the 
place of our habitation, situated to the north pole, under the seven stars : 
Where the cold northern blasts, with horrid sound. 
Harden to ice the snowy covered ground. 
The ether, the south pole, unknown to us, called by the Greeks cevnydova : 
other parts, uncultivated, because either frozen with cold, or burnt up with 
heat ; but where we dwell, it never fails in its season, 
To yield a placid sky, to bid the trees 
Assume the lively verdure of their leaves : 
The vine to bud, and, joyful in its shoots, 
Foretell the approaching vintage of its fruits: 
The ripened corn to sing, whilst all around 
Full riv'lets glide ; and flowers deck the ground. 
Then the multitude of cattle, part for food, part for tilling the ground, others 
for carriage, for clothing; and man himself made as it were on purpose to 
contemplate the heavens and the gods, and to pay adoration to them; lastly, 
the whole earth, and wide extending seas, given to man's use. 

XXIX. When we view these, and numberless other things, can we 
doubt that something presides over these, or made them ? if they are made, 
as is the opinion of Plato: or if, as Aristotle thinks, they are eternal; so 
g -eat a work, and so great a blessing, cannot be supposed, without a director. 
Thus, though you see not the soul of man, as you see not the Deity ; yet 
as you acknowledge a God, from his works, so own the divine power of the 
soul, from its remembering things, its invention, the quickness of its motion, 
and from every charm of virtue. "But where is it seated ? say you. In 
my opinion it is in the head, and I can bring you reasons for that opinion . 
but of those elsewhere. At present, let the soul reside where it will, you' 
certainly have one in you. Should you ask what its nature is ? It has one 
peculiarly its own ; but admitting it to be of fire, or air, it doth not affect 

'4 



18 THB TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 

the question ; only observe this, as you are convinced there is a God, though 
you are ignorant where he resides, and what shape he is of; so you should 
be assured you have a soul, though you cannot satisfy yourself of the place 
of its residence, nor the fashion of it. In our knowledge of the soul, un- 
less we are grossly ignorant in physics, we cannot but be satisfied that it 
has nothing but what is simple, unmixed, uncompcunded ; which being 
admitted, it cannot be separated, nor divided, dispersed or parted, and there- 
fore cannot perish ; fcr to perish implies parting asunder, a division, a dis- 
union of those parts which, whilst it subsisted, were held together by some 
band. Induced by these and such like reasons, S< crates neither looked out 
for any body to plead for him, when accused, nor begged any favour from 
his judges, but maintained a manly freedom, not the effect of pride, but of 
the true greatness of his soul; and on the last da\ of his life, he held much 
discourse on this subject ; and a few days before he refused his liberty, 
when he might have been easily freed from his confinement, and when he 
had hold, in a manner, of that deadly cup, he spoke, with an air of one not 
forced to die, but as ascending into heaven. 

XXX. For so he thought himself to be, and thus he harangued : '• That 
there are two ways, and that the souls of men, at their departure from the 
body, took different roads ; for those that were polluted with vices, that nre 
common to men, and had given themselves up entirely to unclean desires, 
blinded by which, they had habituated themselves to all manner of debau- 
cheries, or had laid detestable schemes for the ruin of their country, took a 
road wide of that which led to the assembly of the gods: but they who 
had preserved themselves perfect and chaste, and free from the slightest 
contagion with the body, and had kept themselves alwaysat a distance from 
itt and whilst on earth, had conformed to the life of the gods ; found the 
return easy to those, from whom they came." Therefore he relates, that 
all good and wise men should take example from the swans, who are. not 
without reason, sacred to Apollo; but particularly, because they seemed to 
have received the gift of divination from him, by which, foreseeing how 
happy it is to die, they leave this world with singing and joy. Nor can any 
one doubt of this, unless it happens to us who think intensely of the soul, 
as is common to those who look earnestly at the setting sun, to lose the 
sight of it entirely : so the mind's eye \iewing itself, sometimes grows 
dull, and for that reason we become remiss in our contemplation. Thus 
our reasoning is earned like one sailing on the immense ocean, harassed 
with doubts and anxieties, not knowing how to proceed, but measuring back 
again those dangerous tracts he had passed. But these reflections are of 
long standing, pnd borrowed from the Greeks. Kven Cato left this world, 
as pleased with an opportunity of dying: for that God who presides in us. 
forbids our departure hence without his leave. But when God himself 
shall give a just cause, as formerly to Socrates, lately to Cato, and often to 
many others ; certainly every man of sense would gladly exchange this 
darkness, for that light; not that he would forcibly break from the chains 
that held him, for that would be against law : but walk out. like one dis- 
charged by a magistrate, or some lawful authority. The whole life ©f a 
philosopher if , as the Bame saith, a meditation on death. 






OF CICERO. 19 

XXXI. For what do we else, when we call off our minds from pleasure, 
i. e. from our attention to the body, from the managing our estates, which 
we do merely on the body's account; when from duties of a public nature, 
or from all other employs whatsoever, what, I say, do we else, but invite 
the soul to reflect on itself ? oblige it to converse with itself, and break off 
its acquaintance with the body ? to separate the soul from the boi'y, then, 
what is it but to learn to die ? Wherefore, let me persuade you, to medi- 
tate on this, and break off your connexion with the body, i. e. learn to die. 
This is to be in heaven whilst on earth ; and when we shall be carried 
thither freed from these chains, our souls will make their way with more 
ease: for they who are always linked thus with the body, even when dis- 
engaged make very slow advances, like those who have worn fetters many 
years; which when we shall arrive at, we shall then live indeed, for this 
present life is a death, which I could lament, if I might. A. You have 
lamented it sufficiently in your book of Consolation ; which, when I read, 
there is nothing 1 desire more than to leave these things : but. that desire 
increases, by what I have just now heard. M. The time will come, and 
that «oon, whether you hang back or press forward : for time flies. Death 
is so far from being an evil, as it lately appeared to you, that I suspect, that 
every thing is a greater evil to man ; or nothing a more desirable good ; if 
we become thereby either gods ourselves, or companions of the gods. 
A. This will not do, as there are some who will not allow of it. M. But I 
will not leave off discussing this point, till I have convinced you, that death 
can upon no account be an evil. A. How can it, after what I have known ? 
M. Do you ask how it can? there arc such swarms of opponents; not 
only Epicureans, whom I regard very little, but I know not how, almost 
every man of letters : but my favourite Dieaearchus is veiy strenuous in 
opposing the immortality of the soul: for he has written three books, which 
are entitled Lesbiacs, because the discourse was held at Mitylene, in which 
he would prove that souls are mortal. Tndeed, the Stoics give us as long 
credit, as the life of a raven; they allow the soul to exist a great while, but 
are against its eternity. 

XXXII. Are you willing to hear, even allowing this, why death cannot 
be an evil ? A. As you please ; but no one shall force me from my im- 
mortality. M. I commend you indeed for that : though we should not 
depend on our opinions : for we are frequently disturbed by some subtle 
conclusion ; we give way and change our opinions in things that are more 
evident; but in this there is some obscurity. Should any thing of this kind 
happen, it is well to be on our guard. A. You are right in that, but I will 
provide against any accident. M. Have you any objection to dismissing 
our friends the Stoics? I mean those, who allow that souls exist after they 
leave the body, but not always. A. Yes, those who admit of the only 
difficulty in this case, that souls may exist independent of body; but reject 
that, which is not only very probable, but the consequence of their own 
concession, that if they may exist some time, they may so for ever. M. 
You take it right ; that is the very thing : shall we give therefore any credit 
to Pana3tius, when he dissents from his Plato 1 whom he every where 



20 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTAT1 

calls divine, the wisest, the most honest of men, the Homer of Philosophers ; 
whom he opposes, in the single opinion of the soul's immortality : For he 
maintains what nobody denies, that every thing which is generated will 
perish ; that even souls are generated, appears from the resemblance to 
those that begot them : which is as apparent in the turn of their mil 
their bodies. But he brings another reason; that there is nothing which 
is sensible of pain, but may also fall ill : but whatever is subject to disorders, 
is subject to death ; the soul is sensible cf pain, therefore it may perish. 

XXXIII. These may be refuted, for they proceed from his not k 
ing, that on the subject of the immortality of i of the 

mind, which should be free of all turbid motion ; not of those parts in which 
those disorders, anger and lust, have their seat; which he. oppo- 

ses, imagines to be distinct ate from the mi: •.sem- 

blance 9 more remarkable in bei ■ souls are void of re;. sen. Bat. 

the likeness in men consists more in their pe: - of no little* 

consequence in what bodies the soul i for there are mr.ny things 

which depend on the body, thai to the soul, many \ 

blunt it. Aristotle indeed saith, that al! men of parts are n elancholy : so 
that I should not have been dipleased to bavfl been somewhat duller than 
lam. He instances in many, and, as it' it were matt 
reasons for it : but if the power of tl. roceed from the body, 

bo so great as to influence the mind, (for t'u . 

they are, that occasi >n this liken. h not necessarily imply, that a 

similitude of souls should be born. I have done with these lib 
wish Pana?tius could be here; he lived with Africanus: 1 would inquire 
of him, which of his family the of Africanns's brothel 

possibly in person like his father: in his manners, so like the mo.-t 
doned, that none was men bo was t!. o of P. Ct 

like, that wise and eloquent mi to none? Or the relations and 

sods of many other excellent men. \ occasion to 

mention? But what are we doing? Have ten, that our purpose 

was, when we had sutiici. i to the ii of the soul, to 

evince, that, should the scads perish, there could be, even then, no evil in 
death? A. I remembered it very well; but I had no dislike to your 
rambling a little from your purpose, whilst you were talking of the soul's 
immortality. 

XXXI v. M. I perceive you have sublime thoughts, and would willing, 
ly reach heaven : I am not without hopes that such may be our fate. But 
admit what they as-er: : that the souls do not remain after death. ^4. 
Should it be so. I see oursch es deprived ol the hopes a happier life. 31. 
But what is there of evil in that opinion ? let the soul perish as the 
is there any pain, or indeed any feeling at all in Ih? no 

one indeed asserts that: though Epicurus charges Domocritus v 
so; but the disciples of Demecritus deny it. N re remains 

in the soul; for the soul is no where : whore then is I I r there is 

nothing but these two. Is it because the separation of the soul and body 
eannot be effected without pain ! but Fb--»uld that dp grantf i ^s!l is 



OF CICERO. 21 

that ? yet I think that is false ; and that it is very often without any sense, 
sometimes even with pleasure, and the whole is very trifling, whatever it 
is, for it is instantaneous. Wh;«t makes us uneasy, or rather gives us pain, 
is the leaving all the good things of life. Consider, if I might not more 
properly say, the evil; what reason is there then to bewail the life of man ? 
and vet I might, with very good reason ; but what occasion is there, when 
I labour to prove that none are miserable after death ; to make life more 
miserable, by lamenting over it ? I have done that in the book I wrote to 
comfort myself as well as I could. If then oar inquiry is after truth, death 
withdraws us from evil, not from good. This is indeed so copiously hand- 
led by Hegesias, the Cyrenian, that he is said to have been forbid by Pto- 
lemy from publishing them in the schools, because some who heard him 
made away with themselves. There is too an epigram of Callimachus, on 
Cleombrotus of Ambracia; who, without any misfortune befalling him, as 
he saith, threw himself from a wall into the sea, on reading a book of Pla- 
to's. The book I mentioned of Hegesias, is on men's starving themselves ; 
written on account of somebody who took that method to get rid of life, 
but, being prevented by his friends, he reckons up to them the miseries of 
human life : I might do the same, though not so fully as he, who thinks it 
not worth any man's while to live. I pass over others. Was it even worth 
my while, for, had I died before I was deprived of the comforts and hon- 
ors of my own family, and what I received from my public services, death 
would have taken me from the evils of life, not its blessings 1 

XXXV. Propose therefore any one, who never knew distress ; who 
never received a blow from fortune : imagine that Metellus, who was hon- 
ored with four sons ; but Priam had fifty, seventeen of which were legiti- 
mate. Fortune had the same power over both, though she exercised it 
on one : for Metellus was l;:id on his funeral pile by many -sons and daugh- 
ters, male and female relations: but Priam fell by the hand of an enemy, 
after having fled to the altar, deprived of so great a progeny. Had he died 
before the ruin of his kingdom, his sons alive, 

With all his mighty wealth elate, 

Under rich canopies of state : 
would he then have been taken from good or evil ? Tt might seem at that 
time, from good ; yet surely, that would have been to his advantage ; nor 
should we have had these mournful verses, 

Lo ! these all perish'd in one flaming pile ; 

The foe old Priam did of life beguile, 

And with his blood, thy altar, Jove, defile. 
As if any thing better could have, happened to him at that time, than to 
lose his life so; which had it fallen out sooner, would have prevented those 
consequences ; or at least he would have been insensible of their. The 
case of our friend Pompey was something better: when he fell sick at 
Naples, the Neapolitans put crowns on their heads, as did these of Puteo- 
li ; the people flocked from (he country to congratulate him. It is a Gre- 
cian custom, and a foolish one ; yet it is a sign of good fortune. But the 
question is, had he died, would he have been taken from good or evil ? 



22 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 

Certainly from evil. He would not have been engaged in a war with liia 
brother-in-law : he would not have taken up arms before he was prepar- 
ed ; he had not left his own house, nor fled from Italy ; he had not, after 
the loss of his army, fell unarmed into the hanLS of his enemies, and been 
put into chains by them : his children had not been destroyed ; nor his 
whole fortune in the possession of the conquerors; who, had he died at 
that time, had died in all his glory ; who, by that delay of death, into what 
great and terrible misfortunes did he fall ? 

XXXVI. These things are avoided by death, which though they should 
never happen, there is a possibility they may ; but it never comes into 
men's heads, that such things may befall them. Every one thinks to be as 
happy as Metellus ; as if the numbei of the happy exceeded that of the 
miserable ; as if there was any certainty in human affairs; as if there were 
more rational foundations for hope than fear. But should we grant them 
even this, that we are by death deprived of good things ; must the dead 
therefore want the good things of life, and be miserable on that account ? 
they must necessarily say so. Can he, who is not, want any thing ? To 
want has a melancholy sound, and has its force from hence : he had, but 
has not; he desires, requires, wants. Such are, I suppose, the distresses 
of one to whom something is wanting. Doth he want eyes ? to be blind, 
is misery. Is he in want of children ? not to have them, is misery. This 
is something with the living, but the dead are neither in want of the bless- 
ings of life, nor life itself; I speak of the dead as not existing. But would 
any say of us, who do exist, that we want horns or wings? Certain!. 
Should it be asked, why not ? the answer would be, that uot to have what 
neither custom nor nature has fitted you for, would not imply a want of 
them, though you were sensible you had them not. This argument should 
be pressed over and over again, that being established, which if souls are 
mortal, there can be no dispute about : I mean, that the destruction of 
them by death is so entire, as to remove even the least suspicion of any 
sense remaining. This then being well grounded and established, we must 
correctly define what the term, to want, meaus ; that there may be no 
mistake in the word. To want. then, signifies this ; to be without that, 
yon would be glad to have ; for inclination for an; - implied in the 

word want: excepting when we say in a different sense of the word, that 
a fever is wanting to any one. For it admits of a different interpretation, 
when you a e without a certain thing, aud are sensible you are without it; 
but yet can easily dispense with your not having it. You cannot apply 
this expression to the dead, that they want ; or that they lament on that 
account. This is said, that they want a good, which is an evil to them. 
But a living man doth not want a good, unless he is distressed without it ; 
and yet, we may understand, how any man alive may want a kingdom. 
When I assert this of you, I cannot use too much ait in expressing myself: 
the case is different with regard to Tarquin, when he was driven from his 
kingdom: but quite incomprehensible, as to the dead. For to want, implies 
to be sensible : but the dead are insensible, therefore the dead can be in no wan'. 

XXXVII. But what occasion is there to philosophize here, when phil- 



OP CICERO. 23 

osophy is so little concerned in it? How ofteu have not only our gene.-als, 
but whole armies, rushed on certain death ? which, were it to be feared, 
L. Brutus had not fell in fight, to prevent the return of that tyrant he had 
expelled : Decius the father, had not been slain in fighting with the Latins : 
nor had his son, when engaged with the Etruscans, or his nephew with 
Pyrrhus, exposed themselves to' the enemy's darts. Spain had not seen 
the Scipios foil in one 'campaign, fighting for their country; the plains of 
Cannee, Paulus and Geminus ; Venusia, Marcellus; the Latins, Albiissus, 
nor the Lucani Gracchus. But are any of these miserable now? nay, not 
even then, after they had breathed their last : nor can any one be misera- 
ble after he has lost all sense: But as to that, that it is afflicting to be with- 
out sense ! it would be so, if the meaning was that any one was really in 
want of it, but as it is evident there can be nothing in that, which has no 
existence ; what can there be afflicting in that which can neither want, nor 
be sensible ? We should have had this, over too often, but that here lies all 
that the soul shudders at, from the fear of death.^VFor whoever can clear ~ 
ly apprehend, which is as manifest as the light ; that when both soul and 
bod} 7 are consumed, and there is a total destruction ; that which was an an- 
imal, becomes nothing ; will clearly see, that there is no difference between 
a Hippocentaur, which never had existence, and king Agamemnon; and 
that M Camillus is no more concerned about this present civil war, than I 
was at the sacking of Rome, when he was in being. Why then should 
Camillus be affected with the thoughts of these things happening three 
hundred and fifty years after ? And why shoul I be uneasy at the thoughts 
of some nation possessing itself of this city, ten thousand years hence? 
Because so great is our regard for our country, as not to be measured by 
our own feeling, but by the actual safety of it. 

XXXVIII. Death, then, which threatens us daily, from a thousand ac- 
cidents, and by the very shortness of life cannot be far off, doth not deter a 
wise man from making provision for his country and his family, that may 
extend to distant ages, and from regarding posterity, of which he may have 
no sensation. Wherefore a man may, though persuaded that his soul is 
mortal, act for eternity, not from a desire of glory, which he will be insen- 
sible of, but from a principle of virtue, which glory will attend, though that 
is not his view. In nature indeed it is thus ; as our birth was the begin- 
ning of things with us, death will be the end ; and as we were no ways 
concerned with them before we were born, so we shall have none after we 
are dead : consider thus, where can be the evil? seeing death has no con- 
nexion with either the dead, or yet those that are alive: the one are not, 
the other have nothing to do with it. They who make the least of death, 
compare it to sleep ; as if any one would live ninety years on condition, that 
at the expiration of sixty, he would sleep out the remainder. The very 
swine would net accept of life on those terms, much less 1 : Endymion in- 
deed, if you listen to fables, slept once on a time, on Latmus, a mountain 
of Caria. I imagine he is not as yet awake. Do you think he is concerned 
ed at the moon's being in labour, by whom he was thrown into that sleep, 
that she might embrace him in that circumstance ; for what should he he 



24 THE TUSCL'LA flATIONS 

concerned for who has no sense ? You look on sleep as an image of death, 
and you take that on you daily : and have you any doubt of there beh.g no 
sense in death, when you sec there is none in sleep, which resembles it. ? 

XXXIX. Away then with those follies that speak the old woman ; that 
it is miserable to die'before our time. What time do you mean ? That of 
nature ? She lent you life, as money, without fixing a time for its payment. 
Have 3'ou any grounds of complaint then, that she recalls it at her pleas 
ure ? Fur you received it on these terms. They that complain thus, allow 
that to die in childhood is tolerable ; if in the cradle, more so; and yet na- 
ture has been more exact with them in demanding back what she 
They answer by Baying, such have not tasted the sweets of life; the 
other had great expectations from what he had already enjoyed. They 
judge better in other i w a port to be preferable to none? 

why not so in life ? Though Callimachus is not more tears 

had flowed from Priam, than his eon : yet they are thought happier who 
have lived to old age. It would be hard t : for 1 do not appre- 

hend the remainder of life would be happier with any. There is nothing 
more agreeable to a man than prudence, which old age as certainly strips 
him of, as any thing else : but what age is long / or what is there at all 
long to a man ? Doth not 

Old age, the' unregarded, still attend 
On childhoodV men ? 

But because there is nothing beyond that long: all these 

things are said to ortion of time, the time 

of life they bear, they were giveo us for. . there is a kind 

of insect, near the river Hypanis, which runs from a certain part of Eu- 
rope into the Pontus, who- iste but of one day; those that die at 
the eight i hour, die in full age; those who die when the sun sets, very 
old, especially when the days are ni i ~t. Compare our longest 
age with eternity, and we shall be found as short-lived as those little ani- 
mals. 

XL Let us then despise ail these follies, for what softer name can I 
give to such levities ? and let us lay the foundation of our - in the 

strength and greatness of our minds, i:. a lor all 

earthly things, and in the practice cf every virtue. For a" we are 

enervated by the delicacy of our imaginations, so that, 
world before the pro:: 
shoul think ourselves depr'e. 

pointed and forlorn. But if through life we are in contiut; 
expecting, stili desiring, and are in continual pain and U . - .' how 

pleasant must that journey be, which ends i:: 
am I with Thermenes ! of how exalted a sou) he i 

read of him without tears : yet t ;:ot to be "lamented in 

his death ; who, when imprisoned by the command of the thirl 
drank off at one draught, as if he ;v. the poisoned'eu; . 

threw the remainder out of it. with such f 

it, he with a smile said, •• I to the 



OF CICEKO, 25 

handsome Critias ;" who had been the most severe agaiast him : for it is 
most customary with the Greeks, at their bmquets, to name the person to 
whom they intend to deliver the cup. This excellent man was pleasant to 
fcfye 1 is-t, even when he had received the poison into his bowels ; and truly 
foretold his death, to whom he drank of the poison, which soon followed. 
Who that thought death an evil, could approve of the evenness of temper 
in this great ' man, at the instant of dying ! Socrates came a few year* 
after to the same prison and the same cup, by the like iniquity of his 
judges, as Theramenes by that of the tyrants. What a speech is that 
which Plato makes him use before his judges, after they had condemn- 
ed him to death ? 

XLI. " I am not without hopes, O judges, that it is a favorable circumstance to- 
me, that I am condemned to die ; for one of these two things must necessarily be, 
that either death will deprive me entirely of all sense ; or by dying I shall go hence 
into some othep place ; wherefore if I am deprived of sense, and death is like that 
sleep, which sometimes is so undisturbed, as to be even without the visions of 
dreams ; good gods ! what gain is it to die ! or what leugth of days can be pre- 
ferable to such a night ? And if the constant course of future time should resem-^. 
ble that night, who is happier than I am 1 j-but if what is said be true, that death 
is but a removal to those regions where the souls of the departed dwell ; that still 
must be more happy ; to have escaped from those who call themselves judges, 
and to appear before such as are truly so, Minos, Rhadamanthus, ^Eacus, Tripto- 
lemus ; and to meet with those who have lived with justice and probity ! Can 
this change of abode appear otherwise than great to you ? to converse with Or- 
pheus, Musaeus, Homer, Hesiod, is a privilege of inestimable value ! I would 
willingly, were it possible, die often, in order to prove the certainty of what I 
speak of. What satisfaction must it be to meet with I'alamedes, Ajax and others, 
betrayed by the iniquity of their judges ! I would prove the wisdom even of that 
king of kings, who led such troops to Troy, that of Ulysses and Sisyphus; nor 
should I be condemned, as I was here, for such an inquiry. And as for you, my 
judges, who have absolved me, ye need not fear death, for nothing bad can befal 
a good man, whether dead or living, nor are his concerns overlooked by the gods, 
nor has this befallen me by chance ; nor have I aught to charge those with, who 
accused or condemned me, but their intention of doing me hami." In this man- 
ner he proceeded ; but nothing I more admire than his last words, " But it is 
time," saith he, for me, to go hence to death ; you, to your employs of life : the 
immortal gods know which is- best ; indeed I believe no mortal doth." 

XLIL I had preferred this man's soul to all the fortunes of those who 
sat in judgment on him: notwithstanding he saith the gods only knew which 
was best, he himself did ; for he had determined that before ; but he held 
to the last, the maxim peculiar to him, of affirming nothing. And let us 
hold to this, not to think any thing an evil, that is a general provision of na- 
ture : and let us assart? ourselves, that if death is an evil, it is an eternal 
evil; for death seems to be the end of miserable life; but if death is misery, 
there can be no end. Bat why do I mention Socrates, or Theramenes r 
men distinguished by the glory of virtue and wisdom ? When a certain 
Lacedaemonian, whose name is not so much as known, held death in such 
contempt, that, when led to it by the ephori, he looked cheerful and pleas- 

5 



26 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 

ant; and being thus interrupted by one of his enemies ; " Do you despise 
the laws of Lycurgus ?" he answered, "I am greatly obliged to him, for 
he has amerced me in a fine which I can pay without borrowing, or taking 
up at interest." This was a man worthy of Sparta ! and I am almost per- 
suaded of his innocency, from the greatness of his soul.,; Our city ha3 
produced many such. But why should I name generals, and other great 
men, when Cato could write, that legions have with alacrily marched to 
that place, from whence they never expected to return ? With no less 
greatness of soul, fell the Lacedaemonians at Thermopylae, of whom Si- 
monides : 

Go, stranger, tell the Spartans, here we lie, 
Who to support their laws durst boldly die. 
How nobly did Leonidas, their general, speak ! " March on with courage, 
my Lacedaemonians ; to-night, perhaps, we shall sup in the regions below." 
This was a brave nation, whilst the laws of Lycurgus were in force. One 
of them, when a Persian had said to him in conversation, " We shall hide 
the sun by the number of our arrows and darts;" replied, " We shall fight 
then in the shade.*' Do I talk of their men ? how great was that LacecV- 
monian woman, who sent her son to battle, and hearing that he was slain 
»• I bore him," said she, " for that purpose, that you might have a man who 
durst die fcr his eoual 

XLIII. It is admitted that the Spartans were bold and hardy : the dis- 
cipline of the republic greatly promoted this. What ? have we not reason 
to admire Theodore, the Cyrenean, a philosopher of some distinction ? 
who when Lysimachus threatened to crucify him, bid him keep those 
menaces for his courtiers: " Theodore is indifferent whether he rot in the 
air or underground." From which saying of the philosopher, ;. . occasion 
is given me of speaking to the custom of burying and its ceremonies, which 
will require but few words, especially if we recollect what has been before 
said of the soul's insensibility. The opinion of Socrates in this is clean 
from the book which treats of his death ; of which we have already said 
a good deal ; for when he had disputed about the immortality- of the soul, 
and time of his dying was near; being asked by Criton, how he would be 
buried ; -'I have taken a great deal of pains," saith he, "my friends, to no 
purpose, for I have not convinced our Criton, that I shall fly from hence* 
and leave, no part of me behind ? notwithstanding, Criton. if you can over- 
take me. wheresoever you get hold of me, bury me as you please : but 
believe me, none of you will bo able to reach me when I fly hence." 
That was excellently said, for he ajlows his friend to do as he pleased, and 
ye.t shewed his indifference about any thing of this kind. D. 
something rougher, though of the same opinion: but as a Cynic, he ex- 
pressed himself somewhat harsher; he ordered himself to be thrown any 
where without burying ; when his friends replied, " What, to the birds and beasts ?" 
" By no means," saith he, " place my starl* near me, that I may drive them away." 
They answer, " How can you do that, for you will not perceive them ?" " How am 
I concerned then in being torn by those animals, if I have no sense?" Anaia- 
goras, when he was near dying: at Lampsacut, and wai asked by hia friends. 



OF CICERO, 

whether, if any thing should happen to him, he would not choose to be carried to 
Clazomense, his country, made this excellent answer ; " No," says he, " there is no 
occasion for that, all places are at an equal distance from the infernal regions." 
There is one thing to be observed on the whole of burying, that it relates to the 
body, whether the soul live or perish : now with regard to the body, it is clear 
that, let the soul live or not, that has no sensation. 

XLIV. But all things are full of errors. Achilles drags Hector, tied to 
his chariot ; he thinks, I suppose, he tears his flesh, and that Hector feels 
the pain of it ; therefore he is revenged, as he imagines ; but Hecuba be- 
wails this as a sore misfortune : 

I saw (a dreadful sight!) great Hector slain, 
Dragg'd at Achilles' car along the plain. 
What Hector ? or how long will he be Hector ? Accius is better in this, 
and Achilles is sometimes more reasonable. 

1 Hector's body to his sire convey'd, 
Hector I sent to the infernal shade. 
It was not Hector that you dragged along, but a body that had been Hector's^ 
Here another starts from underground, and will not suffer his mother to 
eleep ; 

To thee I call, my once lov'd parent, hear, 

Nor longer with thy sleep relieve thy care ; 

Thine eye unpitying me is clos'd — arise, 

Ling'ring I wait the unpaid obsequies. 

When these verses are sung with a slow and melancholy tune, so as to affect the 

whole theatre with sadness, one can scarce help thinking those unhappy, that are 

unburied: 

Ere the devouring dogs and hungry vultures . . . 
He is afraid he shall not have.the use of his limbs so well, if they are torn to pieces 
but is under no such apprehensions if they are buried : 

Nor leave my naked bones, my poor remains, 
To shameful violence, and bloody stains. 
What could he fear, who could pour forth such excellent verses, < o t\ s sound of 
the flute ] We must therefore adhere to this, that nothing is to b* ■ ■ ~ ■ rded after 
we are dead ; though many revenge themselves on their dead enen: 9. Thyestes, 
in some good lines of Ennius, prays, first, that Atreus may perish 1 y a shipwreck » 
which is certainly a very bad dsath ; such an exit is very shocking ! then follow 
these unmeaning expressions, 

May 

On the sharp rock his mangled carcass lie, 
His entrails torn, to hungry birds a prey, 
May he convulsive writhe his pendant side, 
And with his clotted gore the stones be dyed. 
The stones had as much feeling as he who lay on them ; though Thyestes im- 
agines he has wished him the greatest torture : it would be pain indeed, were he 
sensible. But as he is not, it can be none : then how very unmeaning is this ! 
Let him, still hovering o'er the Stygian wave, 
Ne'er reach the body's peaceful port, the grave. 
You see what mistakes they are under ; he imagines the body has it haven, and 
that the dead are at rest in their graves. Pelops was to blame not to have in- 
formed and taught his son what regard was due to every thing. 



28 THE TUSCULAX DISPUTATIONS 

XLV. But there is no occasion to animadvert on the opinions of individuals, 
when you may observe whole nations to fall into those errors. The Egyptians 
embalmed their dead, and keep them in their houses; the Persians dress them over 
with wax, that they may preserve their bodies as long as possible. It is customary 
with the Magi, to bury none of their order, unless they have been first torn by dogs, 
In Hyrcania, the people maintain dogs for the public use, their nobles have their 
own : we know they have a good breed of dogs ; but every one, according to his 
ability, provides himself with some, in order to be torn by them ; and they hold 
that to be the best interment. CLrysippus, who is curious in all kinds of histori- 
cal facts, has collected many other things of this kind, but some of them are so 
offensive as not to admit of being related. All that has been said of burring, is 
not worth our regard, with respect to ourselves, but not to be neglected as to our 
friends, provided we are persuaded that the dead arc : but the living in- 

deed should consider what is due to custom and opinion, but thej should in this 
consider too, that the dead are no ways interested in it. But death truly is then 
met with the greatest tranquillity, when the dying man can comfort himself with 
his own praise. No one dies too soon who has finished the course of perfect 
virtue. Death might have called on me often very seasonably ; oh ! how I wish 
it had ! for I have gained nothing by the delay : I had gone over and over again 
the duties of life ; nothing remained but to contend with fortune. If reason then 
cannot sufficiently fortify us to a contempt of death, let our past life confirm us in 
the conviction that we have lived too long : for, notwithstanding the deprivation of 
sense, the dead are not without that good which properly belong! to them, the 
praise and glory they have acquired, though they are not sensible of it. 
although there be nothing in glory to make it desirable, yet it follows virtue as its 
•hadow.\ But the judgment of the multitude on good men, if ever they form any. 
is more to their own praise, than of any real ad van cad ; yet I cannot 

say, however, it may be received, that Lycurgu* and SSolon are without the glory 
of their laws, and the public discipline they established : or that Themistocles and 
Epaminondas have not the glory of their martial virtue. Neptune shall sooner 
bury Salamine with his waters, than the memory of the trophies gained there ; 
and the Boeotian Leuctra shall perish sooner, than the glory of that action. But 
the fame of Curius, Fabricius, (.'alatinus, the two Scipios. and the two Africanif 
Maximus, Marcellus, Paulus, Cato, Laplius. and numberless others, shall remain 
longer with them. Whoever has caught any resemblance uf them, not estimating 
it by common fame, but the real applause of good men. m:iv with confidence, 
should it be necessary, approach death ; which we know to be. if not the chief 
good, at least no evil. Such a one would even choose to die, whilst he \ 
prosperity ; for all the favours that could be heaped on him, would not 
agreeable to him. as to lose them, vexatious. That speech of the Laeedamonian 
seems to have the same meaning; who, when Liagoras the Khodian, who had 
himself been a conqueror 'at the Olympic garni o of his own sons con- 

querors there, he approached the old man, and congratulating him. 
should die now, Diagoras, for no greater happ. end you." The Greeks 

look on these as great things ; perhaps they think too high of them, or rather did 
so then. He, who said this to Diagoras. looking on it as something very extraor. 
dinary, that three out of one family should have been conquerors there, thought it 
could answer no purpose to him. to continue any longer here, exposed only to a 
reverse of fortune. 



OF CICERO. 29 

XL VI. I might have given a satisfactory answer in this point, with few 
words, as you allowed the dead were not miserable : but I have laboured 
it the more for this reason, because this is our greatest consolation in the 
losing and bewailing of our friends. For we ought to bear with discretion 
any grief that arises from ourselves, or on our own account, lest we should 
seem to be influenced by self-love. But should we suspect our departed 
friends to be under those evils, which they are generally imagined to be, 
and to be sensible of them, such a suspicion would give us intolerable uneasi- 
ness : I wished, for my own sake, to pluck up this opinion by the root ; and 
on that account I have been perhaps too tedious. 

XL VII. A. Ycu too tedious ? no, indeed, not to me. I was induced by 
the former part of your speech, to wish to die ; by the latter, to be indif- 
ferent, or at least not to be uneasy about it. But on the whole I am con- 
vinced that there can be no evil in death. M. Do j ou expect that 1 should 
give you an epilogue, like the rhetoricians, or shall I forego that art ? A. I 
would not have you give over an art you have set off to such advantage ; 
and you were in the right in that, for, to speak the truth, it has set you off, 
But what is that epilogue ? for I should be glad to hear it, whatever it is. 
M. It is customary in the schools, to produce the opinions of the immortal 
gods on death ; nor are these opinions the fruits of imagination alone, but 
have the authority of Herodotus and many others. Cleobis and Biton are 
the first they mention, sons of the Argive priestess ; it is a known story. 
As it was necessary she should be drawn in a chariot, to a certain stated 
sacrifice, solemnized at a temple some considerable distance from the town, 
and the cattle that drew it went very slowly, those two young men I men- 
tioned, pulling cff their garments, and anointing their bodies with oil, ap^ 
plied themselves to the yokeNj^The priestess being thus conveyed to the 
temple, drawn by her two sons, is said to have entreated the goddess to 
bestow on them, for their piety, the greatest gift that a god could confer : 
the young men, after having feasted with, their mother, fell asleep ; and in 
the morning they were found dead. Trophonius and Agamedes are said 
to have put up- the same petition, who having built a temple to Apollo at 
Delphi, supplicating the god, desired of him some extraordinary reward 
for their care and labour, particularizing nothing, but only what was best 
for men. Apollo signified that he would bestow it the third day at sun-rising ; 
on that day they were found dead. Th s they say was the particular de- 
termination of that god, to whom the rest of the deities have assigned the 
province of divining. 

XLV1II. There is another little story told of Silonus, who when taken 
prisoner by Midas, is said to have made him this present, for his ransom ; 
he informed h m, that never to have been born, was by far the greatest 
blessing that could happen to man; the nearest to it, was, to die very soon : 
which very opinion r.uripides makes use of in his Cresphon, 
When man is born, 'tis fit, with solemn show, 
We speak our sense of his approaching w r oe ; 
With other gestures, and a different eye, 
Proclaim our pleasure when he's bid to die. 



30 THB TU2CULA* DISPUTATIONS 

There is something like this in Grantor's Consolation ; for he snith. that 
Teiinaeus of Elysia, bemoaning heavily the loss of his son, came to a place 
of diviuation to be informed why lie was visited with so great affliction, and 
received in his tablet these three verses : 

Thou fool, to murmur at iV.uthynous' death! 
The blooming youth to fate resigns his breath : 
That fate, whereon your iiappiness depends, 
At once the parent and the son befriends. 
On these and such like authorities they affirm this cause to have been de- 
termined by the gods. But Alcidamas, an ancient rhetorician, of great 
reputation, wrote even in praise of death, by recounting the evils of life ; 
he has much of the orator, but was unacquainted with the more refined 
arguments of the philosophers. With the rhetoricians indeed, to die for 
orr country, is always not only glorious, but happy : they go back as fa; as 
Erectheus, whose very daughters underwent death, for the safety of their 
fellow-citizens : they instance Codrus, who threw himself into the midst 
of his enemies, dressed like a common man, that his royal robes might not 
betray him ; because the oracle had declared the Athenians conquerors, if 
their king was slain. Menoeceus is not orei looked by them, who, on the 
publishing of au oracle, freely gave up his blood to his country. Iphigenia 
ordered himself to be conveyed to Aulis, to be sacrificed, that her Wood 
might be the means of spilling that of her enemies. From hence they 
proceed to instances of a fresher date.XHarmodius and Aristogiton, Leon- 
idas the Lacedaemonian, and Epaminondas the I heban. are much talked of; 
they were not acquainted with the many instances in our country, to give 
a list of whom would take up too much time ; so great is the number of 
those to whom an honour.il le death was always desirable. Notwithstanding 
it is thus, we must use much persuasion, and a loftier strain of eloquence, 
to bring men to begin to w r ish to die, or to cease to be afraid of death 
if that last day doth not occasion an entire extinction, but a change of place 
only, what can be more desirable? but if it destroys, and absolutely puts 
an end to us, what is preferable to the having a deep sleep fall on us, in the 
midst of the fatigues of life, and thus overtaken to sleep to eternity ; which, 
should it be the case, Eunius's speech exceeds Colon's ; for our Eunius 
saith, 

Let none bestow upon my passing bier 
One needless sigh, or unavailing tear. 
But that wise man. 

Let me not unlamented die, but o'er my bier 
Burst forth the tender sigh, the friendly tear. 
Should it indeed be our case to know the time appointed by the gods for us 
to die, let us prepare ourselves for it, with a pleasant and grateful mind, 
as those who are delivered from a jail, and eased from their fetter, to go 
back to their eternal and (without dispute) their own habitation : or to be 
divested of all sense and trouble. But should we not be acquainted with 
this decree, yet shcul.1 we be so disposed, as to look ou that last hour as 
happy for us. though shocking to our friends ; and never imagine that to 



OS CICEKO, SI 

be an ev ; I, wVch is an appointment of the immortal gods, or of nature, the 
common parent of all. For it is not by hazard or without design that we 
have a being here ; but doubtless there is a certain power, concerned for 
human nature ; which would neither have produced nor provided for a be- 
ing, which after having gone through the labours of life, was to fall into an 
eternal evil by death. Let us rather infer, that we have a retreat and 
haven prepared for ns, which, I wish, we could make for, with crowued 
sails ; but though the winds should not serve, yet we shall of course gain 
it, though somewhat later. But how can that be miserable for one which 
all must undergo ? I have given you an epilogue, that you might not th nk 
I had overlooked or neglected any thing. A. I am persuaded you have 
no" : and indeed that epilogue has confirmed me. M. I am glad it has 
had that effect; but it is now time to consult our healths; to-morrow, and 
all the time we continue here, let us consider this subject; and principally 
that which may ease our pain, alleviate our fears, and lessen our desires, 
which is the greatest advantage we can reap from the whole of philosophy* 



BOOK II. 

ON BEARING PAIN. 

I. Neoptolemus in Ennius indeed saith, that the study of philosophy, moderate- 
ly pursued, was expedient for him ; but to give himself up entirely to it, waswbat 
he did not approve of. As to my part, Brutus, I am perfectly persuaded that it is 
expedient for me to philosophize ; for what can I do better, having no employ 1 
but I am not for proceeding but a little way in it, like him : for it is difficult to ac- 
quire the knowledge of a little, without acquainting yourself with many, or all its 
branches ; nor can you well select that little but out of a great number : nor can 
any one who has acquired some knowledge thereof avoid endeavoring at more, 
with the same inclination. But in a life of business, like that of Neoptolemus, 
and in a military way, that little may have its use, and yield fruit, though not so 
plentifully as the whole of philosophy ; yet such as in some degree may at times 
lessen our desires, our sorrows, and our feai-s : just as the effect of our late Tuscu- 
lan Disputations seemed to be a great contempt of death ; which contempt is of no 
small efficacy to the ridding the mind of fear : for whoever dreads what cannot be 
avoided, can by no means live with any satisfaction. But he who is under no fear 
of death, not only from the necessity of dying, but from a persuasion that death 
itself hath nothing terrible in it, has very great security for a happy life. How- 
ever, I am not ignorant, that many will strenuously oppose us ; which can be no 
otherwise avoided than by not writing at all. For if my Orations, which were 
addressed to the judgment and approbation of the people, (for that is a popular 
art, and the effect of oratory is popular applause,) encountered some who are in- 
clined to withhold their praise from every thing but what they are persuaded they 
can attain to themselves, and who confine good speaking to what they may hope 
to reach, and who declare, when they are overwhelmed with a flow of words and 
sentences, that they prefer the utmost poverty of thought and expression to that 



32 THE TUSCULAH DISPUTATIONS 

plenty and copiousness; (from whence arose the kind of Attic oratory, which they 
who professed it were stranger? to, and which already silenced, and laughed out 
of the very courts of justice:) what may I not expe' present I cannot 

have the least countenance fi which I was upheld before 1 For 

philosophy i avoiding the mul- 

.iousofit, and utterly displeased with it: so that, should any 
one undertake to cry down the whole, he would have the people on his side ; or 
should h^ attack that, which I particularly profess, he might have assistance from 
the schools of the other philosophers. But I have answered the detractors of phil- 
osophy in general, in my Hortensius. What I had to say in favor of the Acade- 

ned in my Academics. 

II. But yet I am so far from desiring that none should write against me, that it 

. covet; for philosophy had never been in such esteem in 
Greece ;om the strength it required from the c und disputa- 

tions oi led men ; therefore I recommend to all who have abilities, to 

snatch this art also from declining Greece, and transport it to us ; as our ancestors 
by their study and industry imported all their other arts, which were worth hav- 
ing. Thus the praise of oratory, raised from a low degree, is arrived at such per- 
fection, that it must now decline, and, as is the nature of all things, verge to its 
dissolution, in a very short time. Let philosophy then from this time spring 
afresh in the Latin tongue, and let us lend it our assistance, and let us bear pa- 
tiently to be contradicted and refuted ; which they dislike who are devoted to cer- 
tain determined opinions, and are under such obligations to maintain them, that 
though they can support them by no arguments, they are forced to abide by them, 
to avoid the imputation of fickleness. We who pursue only probabilities, and 
cannot go beyond what is likely, can confute others without obstinacy, and are 
prepared to be confuted ourselves without resentment. Besides, were those stu- 
dies b rough t home to us, we should not want Greek libraries, in which there is an 
infinite number of books, by reason of the multitude of authors among them ; for 
it is a common practice with many to repeat the same things which have been 
wrote by others, which serves no purpose, but to stuff their shelves: and this will 
be our case, if many apply themseh study. But let us excite tl. 

possible, who have had a liberal education, and are masters of an elegan: 
and philosophise with reason and method. 

III. For there it a farther cert;. in tribe who wou'. be called 
philosophers, whose books m our 1 uguage are said to be numerous, which 
1 do not despise, foriudeed I never read them : but because the authors 

leclare that they write without any regularity or method, with- 
out eh - i nament : I do not choose to read what is so void of en- 
terta'mmenr. There is no one in the least acquainted with letters but knows 

1 : wherefore, since they are at no 
pains about expression, I do not see why they should be read by any but 
one another : let them read them, if the who are of the 

opinions : for as all re and the of wu0 

sprang from them, even th< . or are 

pies, 

take Ep'.etii - 

■ 



OF CICEKO. 83 

published, should be recommended to the reading of every man of learning ; 
and though we may not succeed in this ourselves, yet nevertheless we 
must be sensible that this ought to be the aim of every writer. I am pleas- 
ed with the manner of the Peripatetics, and Academics, of disputing on 
both sides or the question ; not solely from its being the only method of dis- 
covering the probable, but because it affords the greatest scope for reason- 
ing; a method that Aristotle first made use of, afterwards all the Aristoteli- 
ans ; and in our memory Philo, whom we have often heard, appointed one 
time to treat of the precepts of the rhetoricians, another for philosophy ; to 
which custom I was brought to conform by means of my friends at my 
Tusculum, where our leisure time was spent in this manner. So that as 
we did yesterday, before noon we applied ourselves to speaking; and in the 
afternoon went down into the academy : the disputations held there I have 
acquainted you with, not in a narrative way, but almost in the same words in 
which they were carried on. 

IV. The discourse was then introduced in this manner, whilst we were 
walking, and the exordium was somewhat thus. A. It is not to be ex- 
pressad how much I was delighted, or rather edified, by your discourse of 
yesterday. Though I am conscious to myself that I was never over-fond 
of life, yet at. times, when I have considered that there would be an end 
to this life, and that I must some time or other part with all its good things, 
a dread and uneasiness has intruded on my thoughts; but now, believe me, 
I am so freed from that kind of uneasiness, that I think it not worth any 
regard. M. I am not at all surprised at that, for it is the effect of philoso- 
phy, which is the medicine of our souls ; it discharges all groundless ap- 
prehensions, frees us from desires, drives away fears : but it has not the 
same influence over all : it exerts itself most, when it falls in with a dispo- 
sition proper for it. For fortune doth not alone, as the old proverb is, as- 
sist the bold, but reason more so ; which, by certain precepts, as it were, 
confirms even courage itself. You were born naturally great and soaring, 
and with a contempt for all things here ; therefore adiecourse against death 
had an easy possession of a brave soul. But do you imagine that these 
same arguments have any force with those very persons who have invent- 
ed, canvassed, and published them, excepting indeed some few particular 
persons ? For how few philosophers will you meet with, whose life and 
manners are comformable to the dictates of reason ? who look on their pro- 
fession, not as a means of displaying their learning, but as a rule for their 
practice ? who follow their own precepts, and comply with their own de- 
crees ? You may see some of that levity, that vanit} r , that it would have 
been better for them to have been ignorant; some covetous of money, some 
ambitious, many slaves to their lusts; so that their discourses and their ac- 
tions are most strangely at variance ; than which nothing in my opinion is 
more unbecoming ; for it is just as if one who professed teaching grammar, 
should speak with impropriety ; or a master of music sing out of tune ; it 
has the worse appearance, because he acts contrary to his profession : so a 
philosopher, who errs in the conduct of his life, is the more imfamous, be- 
cause he mistakes in the very thing he pretends to teach, and whilst he 

6 



34 THE TU2CULAN DISPUTATIONS 

lays down rules to regulate life by; is irregular in his own life. 

V. A. Should this be the case, is it not to be feared that you are dress- 
ing up philosophy in false colors ?for what stronger argument can there 
be, that it is of little use, than, that some complete philosophers live im- 
morally 1 M. That indeed is no argument, for as all fields are not fruitful, 
because manured ; and this sentiment of Accius is false, and asserted with- 
out any foundation, 

The ground you sow on, is of small avail ; 

To yield a crop good seed can never fail : 
bo all minds do not answer their culture : and to goon with the comparison 
as the field naturally fruitful cannot produce a crop, without dressing, so 
neither can the mind, without improvement ; such is the weakness of eith- 
er without the other. Whereas philosophy is the culture of the mind: 
this it is which plucks up vices by the roots ; prepares the mind for the re- 
ceiving of seed, commits them to it, or, as I may say, sows them, that, 
when come to maturity, they may produce a plentiful harvest. Let us 
proceed then as we beg n ; say, if you please, what shall be the subject of 
our disputation. A. I look on pain to be the greatest of all evils. .V. 
What, greater than infamy ? A. I dare not indeed assert that, and I 
blush to think I am so soon driven from my opinion. Af. You would have 
had greater reason for blushing, had you persevered in it; for what i3 so 
unbecoming ? what can appear worse to you, than disgrace, wickedness, 
immorality ? To avoid which, what pain should we not oiJy not refuse, but 
willingly take on ourselves ? A. I am entirely of that opinion; but not- 
withstanding that pain is not the greatest evil, yet MB n evil. M. 
Do you perceive then how much of the terror of pain you have given up 
on a small hint. A. I see that plainly ; but I should be glad to give up 
more of it. M. 1 will endeavor at it, but it is a great undertaking, and I 
must have no contradiction. A. You shall have none ; as I behaved yes- 
terday, so now I will follow reason wherever she leads. 

VI. First, then, I will speak to the weakness of some, and the various 
sects of philosophers ; the head of whom, both in authority and antiquity, 
was Arisrippus, the Socratic, who hesitated not to say, that pain was the 
greatest of h!1 evils. Next Epicurus easily gave in to this effeminate and 
enervated opinion. After him Hieronymus, the Rhodian, said, that to be 
without pain was the chief gocd, so great an evil did pain appear to him. 
The rest, excepting Zeno, Aristo, Pyrrho, were pretty much of the same 
opinion you were of just now. that was indeed an evil, but there were ma- 
ny worse. Therefore what nature herself, and every generous soul dis- 
avows, that paiu should be called the greatest of evils, and which you your- 
self renounced when infamy appeared in contrast to it, is this — what phil- 
osophy, the mistress of life, continues to maintain for so many nges. What 
duty of life, what praise, what reputation would be of such consequence, 
that a man should be desirous of gaining it at the expense of submitting to 
bodily pain, when he considers pain as the greatest evil ? On the other 
aide, what disgrace, what ignominy would he not submit to, that he might 
avoid paiD, when persuaded that it wa§ the greatest of evils 1 Besides. 



01 CICERO. 3d 

what person, who looks on pain as the greatest of evils, is not miserable, 
not only when he actually feels pain, but when he reflects that it ra..y be- 
fall him ? hence it follows that every man is miserable. Metrodorus in- 
deed thinks him pe fectly happy, whose body is free from all disorders, and 
has an assurance that it will always continue so ; but who is there can be 
assured of that ? 

VII. Epicurus truly saith such things as if his design was to make peo- 
ple laugh ; for he affirms somewhere, that if a wise man were to be burn- 
ed, or put to the torture, you expect, perhaps, he should say that he would 
bear it, that he would support himself under it with resolution ! (that, so 
help me, Hercules ! would be very commendable, and becoming that very 
Hercules I adjured;) but this will not satisfy Epicurus, a robust and hardy 
roan ! No, if he were in Phalaris's bull, he would say, how sweet it is ! 
how little do I regard it ! What sweet ? is it not sufficient, if it is not dis- 
agreeable ? but those very men who deny pain to be an evil, to say that is 
agreeable to any one to be tormented ; they rather say, that it is hard, af- 
flicting, unnatural, but yet no evil. He who saith it is the only evil, and 
the very worst of all evils, yet thinks a wise man would pronounce it sweet. 
I do not require of you to speak of pain in the same words which Epicu- 
rus doth, a man, as you know, devoted to pleasure ; he may make no dif- 
ference, if he pleases, between Phalaris's bull, and his own bed : but I 
cannot allow this wise man to be so indifferent about pain. If he bears it 
with courage, it is sufficient; that he should rejoice in it, I do not expect; 
fo:-pain is certainly sharp, bitter, against nature, hard to submit to, and bear. 
Observe Philoctetes : we may allow him to lament, for he saw Hercules 
himself grieving loudly through the extremity of pain on mount (Eta : the 
arrows Hercules presented him with, were then no consolation to him, 
when 

The viper's bite, impregnating his veins 
With poison, rack'd him with its bitter pains. 

And therefore he cries out, desiring help, and wishing to die, 
Oh ! that some friendly hand its aid would lend, 
My body from this rock's vast height to send 
Into the briny deep ! I'm all on fire, 
And by this fatal wound must soon expire. 

It is hard to say, he was not oppressed with evil, and great evil too, who 

was obliged to cry out in this manner. 

VIII. But let us observe Hercules himself, who was subdued by pain, 
at the very time he was in quest of immortality by dying. What words 
doth Sophocles here put in his mouth, in his Trachinias ? who, when Dei- 
anira had put upon him a tunic dyed in the centaur's blood, and it stuck to 
his entrails, saith. 

What tortures I endure, no words can tell, 
Far greater these, than those which erst befel 
From the dire of terror of thy consort, Jove ; 
E'en stern Eurystheus' dire command above; 
This of thy daughter, (Eneus, is the fruit, 
Beguiling m© with her envenom'd suit 



36 THE TUSCULAN IMPUTATIONS 

Whose close embrace doth on my entrails prey, 

Consuming life ; my lungs forbid to play ; 

The blood forsakes my veins, my manly heart 

Fo gets to beat; enervated, each part 

Neglects its office, whilst my fatal doom 

Proceeds ignobly from the weaver's loom. 

The hand of foe ne'er hurt me, nor the fierce 

Giant, issuing from his parent earth. 

Ne'er could the Centaur such a blow enforce, 

No barbarous foe, nor all the Grecian force ; 

This arm no savage people could withstand, 

"Whose realms I travers'd, to reform the land. 

Thns, though I ever bore a manly heart, 

I fall a victim to a woman's art. 

Assist, my son, if thcu that name doth bear, 

My groans preferring to thy mother's tear; 

Convey her here, if, in thy pious heart) 

Thy mother shares not an unequal part: 

Proceed, be bold, thy father's fate bemoan, 

Nations will join, you will not weep alone, 

O what a sight is this same briny source. 

Unknown before, through all my labors' course ? 

That virtue, which could brave each toil but late. 

With woman's weakness now bewails its fate. 

Approach, my son ; behold thy father laid, 

A withered carcase that implores thy aid; 

Let all behold ! and thou, imperious Jove, 

On me direct thy lightning from a! 

Now all its force the poison doth assume, 

And my burnt eutrails with its flame consume, 

Crest-fallen, unembraced. I new 1 -t fall. 

Listless, those hands that lately conquer'd all ; 

When the Nemaeanlion own'd their force, 

And he indignaut fell a breathless corse : 

The serpent slew, of the Lernean lake, 

As did the Hydra of its forco partake : 

By this too fell the Erymanthian boar : 

E'en Cerberus did his weak strength deplore. 

This sinewy arm did oveicome with ease 

That dragon, guardian of the golden fleece. 

My many conquests let some others trace ; 

It's mine to say, 1 never knew disgrace. 
Can we then despise 'pain, when wo see Hercules in such intolerable 
pain ? 

lX.^Let us see what iEschvlus says, who was not only a poet, but ac- 
cording to report a Pythagorean philosopher : how doth he make Prome- 
theus bear the pain he suffered for the Lemnian theft, when he clandes- 
tinely stole away the celestial fire, and bestowed it on men, and w 
verely punished by^Jupiter for the theft. Fastened to mount Caucasus, he 
speaks thus : 

Thou heav'n-born race of Titans, here fast bound 

Behold thy brother ! As the sailors sound 



OP CICERO. 37 

"With care the bottom, and their ships confine 

To some safe shove, with anchor and with line. 

So, by Jove's dread decree, the god of fire 

Confines me here, the victim of Jove's ire. 

With baneful art his dire machine he shapes ; 

From such a god what mortal e'er escapes ? 

•When each third day shall triumph o'er the night, 

Then doth the vulture with his talons light, 

Seizing my entrails; which, in rav'nous guise, 

He preys on ! then with wings extended flies 

Aloft, and brushes with his plumes the gore : 

But when dire Jove my liver doth /estore, 

Back he returns impetuous to his prey ; 

Clapping his wings, he cuts th' etherial way. 
Thus do I nourish with my blood this pest, 

Confin'd my arms, unable to contest; 

Intreating only, that in pity Jove 

Would take my life, and this curs'd plague remove. 

But endless ages past, unheard my moan, 

Sooner shall drops dissolve this very stone. 
We scarce think it possible not to call one affected in this manner, misera- 
ble ; if such a one is miserable, then pain is an evil. 

X. A. Hitherto you are on my side ; I will see to that by and by ; and, 
in the meanwhile, whence are those verses ? I do not remember them. 
M. I w T ill inform you, for you are in the right to ask ; you see that I have 
much leisure. A. What then ? M- I imagine, when you were at Athens, 
you attended frequently these schools ? A. Yes. and with great pleasure. 
M. You observed then, though none of them at that time were very elo- 
quent, yet they used to throw in verses in their harangues. A. Dionysius 
the Stoic used to apply a great many. M . You say right ; but they were 
repeated without any choice or elegancy. But our Philo gave you a few 
select lines and well adapted ; wherefore since I took a fancy to this kind of el- 
derly declamation, lam very fond of quoting our poets, and where I can- 
not be supplied from them, I translate from the Greek, that the Latin lan- 
guage may want no ornament in this kind of disputation. 

XI. But do you see the ill effects of poetry ? The poets introduce the 
bravest men lamenting over their misfortunes : they soften our minds, and 
they are besides so entertaining, that we do not only read them, but get 
them by heart. Thus, what with poetry, our want of discipline at home, 
and our tender and delicate manner of living, virtue is become quite ener- 
vated. Plato therefore was right in banishing them his commonwealth, 
where he required the best morals, and the best form of government. But 
we, who have all our learning from Greece, read and learn from our child- 
hood ; and look on this as a liberal and learned education. 

XII. But why are we angry with the poets ? we may find some phil- 
osophers, those masters of virtue, who taught that pan was the greatest 
of evils. But you, youn^ man, when you said but just now that it appear- 
ed so to you, upon being asked, if greater than infamy, gave up. that opin- 
ion at a word's speaking. Suppose I ask Epicurus the same question/ He 
answers, that the least pain is a greater evil than the greatest iDfamy : that 



38 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 

rhere is no evil in infamy itself, unless attended with pain. What pain 
then must attend Epicurus, when he saith this very thing, that pain is the 
greatest evil ; fur nothing can be a greater disgrace to a philosopher than 
to talk thus. Therefore you allowed enough, when you admitted infamy 
to appear to you a greater evil than pain. If you abide bj this, you will 
see how far pain should be resisted : and that our inquiry should be, not so 
much whether pain be an evil, as how the mind may be fortified for re- 
sisting it. The Stoics infer from some trifling arguments, that it is no evil, as if 
the dispute was about a word, not the thing itself. Why do you impose 
upon me, Zeno ? fcr when you deny, what appears very dreadful to me, 
to be an evil, I am deceived, and am at a loss to know why, what is to me 
so miserable, should be no evil. The answer is, that nothing is an evil but 
what is base and vicious. You return to your trifling, for you do not re- 
move what made me uneasy. I know that pain is not vice, you need not 
inform me of that : but shew me, that, to be in pain or not, is all one ; it has 
nothing to do, say you, with a happy life, for that consists of virtue alone ; 
but yet pain is to be avoided. If I ask, why ? it is disagreeable, against 
nature, hard to bear, woeful and afflicting. 

XIII. Here are many words to express that variously, which we call 
by the single word, evil. You are defining pain, instead of removing it, 
when ycu say, it is disagreeable, unnatural, scarce to be borne: nor are 
you wrong in saying so, but the man who vaunts thus, and maintains nothing 
to be good but what is honest, nothing evil but what is base, should not 
give way to any pain. This would be wishing, not proving. This is better, 
and has more truth in it, that all things which nature abhors are to be 
looked on as evil; what she approves of, are to be considered as good : this 
admitted, and the dispute about words removed, that what they with reason 
embrace, and which we call honest, right, becoming, and sometimes include 
under the general name of virtue, would appear to such advantage, that 
all other things which are looked on as the gifts of fortune, or the good 
things of the body, would seem trifling and insignificant; no evil, nor b!| 
the collective body of evils together, would be comparable to the evil of in- 
famy. Wherefore, if, as you granted in the beginning, infamy is v 
than pain, pain is certainly nothing ; for whilst it shall appear to you base 
and unmanly to groan, cry out, lament, or faint under pain, whilst you have 
any notion of probity, dignity, honour, and keeping your eye on them, you 
refrain yourself; paiu will certainly yield to virtue, and the influence of im- 
agination will lose its whole force. For you must either give up virtue, or 
despise pain. Will you allow of such a virtue as prudence, without which 
no virtue can indeed be conceived ? "What then ? will that suiter you to 
labour and take pains to no purpose ? Will temperance permit you to do 
any thing to excess? Can justice be maintained by one. who through the 
force of pain betrays secrets, one that discovers his confederates, and re- 
linquishes many duties of life 1 How will you act consistent with courage, 
and its attendants, greatness of soul, resolution, patience, a contempt for all 
worldly things ? Can you hear yourself called a great man, when you lie 
groveling, dejected, and deploriug yourself, with a lamentable voice : do 



OF CICERO. 3$ 

one would call you a man, in such a condition : therefore you must either 
quit, all pretensions to courage, or pain must be laid asleep. 

XIV". You know very well, that though part of your Corinthian furniture 
be gone, the remainder is safe without that; but if you lose one- virtue 
(though virtue cannot be lost) ; should you, I say, acknowledge that you 
were short in -one, you would be stripped of all. Can you then call Prom- 
etheus a brave man, and of a great soul, endued with patience, and steadi- 
ness above the frowns of fortune ? or Philoetetes, for I choose to instauce 
in him, rather than yourself, for he certainly was not brave, who lay in his 
bed, watered with his tears, 

Whose groans, bewailings, aud whose bitter cries, 
With grief incessant rend the very skies. 
I do not deny pain to be pain ; for were that the case, in what would 
courage consist ? but I say it should be assuaged by patience, if there be 
such a thing as patience : if there be no such thing, why do we speak so 
in praise of philosophy ? or why do we glory in its name ? Pain vexes us,- 
let it sting us to the heart ; if you have no defence, submitto it; but if you 
are secured by Vulcanian armour, i. e. with resolution, oppose it ; should 
you fail to do so, that guardian of your honour, your courage, would forsake 
and leave you. By the laws of Lycurgus, and by those which were given' 
to the Cretans by Jupiter, or which Minos received from that god, as the 
poets say, the youths are trained up to hunting, running, enduring hunger 
and thirst, cold and heat. The boys at Sparta are scourged so at the altars, that 
the blood follows the lash, nay, sometimes, as I heard when I was there, 
they are whipped to death ; and not one of them was ever heard to cry 
out, or so much as groan. What then ? shall men not be able to bear what 
boys do ? and shall custom have more force than reason ? 

XV. There is some difference betwixt labour and pain; they border 
upon one another, but with a distinction. Labour is a certain exercise of 
the mind or body, in some employ or undertaking that requires pains ; but 
pain is a sharp motion in the body, disagreeable to our senses. Both these 
the Greeks, whose language is more copious than ours, express by the 
common name of novo-; ; therefore they call industrious men, pains-taken t 
or rather fond of labonr ; we more pertinently, laborious; for there is a 
difference betwixt labour and pain. You see, O Greece, your barrenness*- 
of words, sometimes, though you think you always abound.' I say, then., 
there is a difference betwixt labour and pain. When Marius was cut for 
a swelling in his thigh, he felt pain ; when he headed his troops in a very 
hot season, he laboured. Yet they bear some resemblance to one another; 
for the accustoming ourselves to labour makes us support pain with more 
ease. On this reason the founders of the Grecian form of government 
provided that the bodies of their youth should be strengthened by labour, 
which custom the Spartans transferred even to their women, who in other 
cities are more delicately clothed, and not exposed to the air : but it was 
otherwise with them. 

The Spartan women, with a manly air, 
Fatigues and dangers with their husbands share; 



40 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 

They in fantastic sports have no delights, 

Partners with them in exercise and tight. 
In these laborious exercises pain interferes, sometimes, they are thrown 
down, jreceii h;ive bad falls and are bruised, and the labour itself 

XV ; own, not the Spartans', fur 

►f tiie flute, and scarce a word of con 
eel ) you may see whence the rery Dame of an 
(Exercitus) is derived: great is the labour of an army on its march; 
then consider that they carry more than a fortnight's provision, and what- 
ever else they may want : then the burthen of the stakes, for as to shield, 
sword, or helmet, they look on them as no more incumbrance than their 
own limbs, for they say arms are the limbs of a soldier, which they carry 
so commodiously, that when there is occasion they throw down their bur- 
thens, and use their aims as readily as their limbs. What are the exer- 
cises of the legions ? What labour in the running, encounters, shouts ! 
Hence it is, that they make so slight of wounds in action. Pake a soldier 
of equal bravery, but unexercised, and he will seem a woman : but why 
should there be this sensible difference betwixt a raw man. and an eld 
soldier? It is true, the ige of y<>ung soldiers is for the mo*t part prefera- 
ble, but it is practice that enables them to bear labour, and despise wounds. 
Thus you see, when the wounded are carried off the field, the raw un- 
tried soldier, though but slightly wounded, cries out most shamefully, but 
the more brave experienced veteran only inquires for some one to dress his 
wounds, and s;> 

Patroclus, to thy aid I must appeal. 
Ere worse ensue, my bleeding wounds to heal; 
The sons of jEsculapius are employ'd. 
No room for me, so many are annoy "d. 
XVII. This is certainly Eurypilus himself, experienced man! — Whilst 
his friend is continually enlarging on his sorrows, you may observe that he 
is so far from weeping, that he assigns a reason why he should bear his 
wounds with patience. 

Who at his enemy a stroke dii 
His sword to light upon himself expects. 
Patroclus, I imagine, were he a man, would lead him off to his chamber to 
bind up his wounds ; but not a word of that, for he inquires how it went : 

Say how the Argives bear themselves in tight ? 
He could not express their toils so well by words, as what he had suffered 
himself: 

Peace ! and my wounds bind up ; 
But though Eurypilus could not, JEsopw could. 

Where Hector's fortune press'd our yielding troops, 
and he explains the rest, though in pain ; so unbounded is military glory in 
a brave man ! Cannot a wise and learned man achieve what this old soldier 
could? yes, indeed; and in a much better way ; but at present I confine 
myself to custom and practice. I am not yet come to speak of rsason and 



OS CICSBO. 



41 



philosophy. You may often hear of diminutive old women living without 
rictuale three or four days , but take away a wrestler's provision but for on© 
day, he will implore Jupiter Ol^mpius, the very god for whom he exercises 
himself: he will cry out, It is intolerable. Great is the force of custom ! 
Sportsmen will continue whole nights in the snow : they will bear being 
parched upon the mountains. By custom tho boxers will not so much as 
utter a groan, however bruised by the cestus. But what do you think of 
those who put a victory in the Olympics on a footing with the Consulate 
formerly? What wounds will the gladiators bear, who are either baiba- 
rians, or the dregs of men ? How do they, who are trained to it, prefer 
being wounded to the basely avoiding it ? How often do they appear to 
consider nothing but the giving satisfaction to their masters or the people ? 
for when covered with wounds, they send to their masters to Jearu their 
pleasure; if it is their will, they are ready to lie down and die. Wh. t 
ordinary gladiator ever gave a sigh ? Who ever turned pale ? Who ever 
disgraced himself either on his legs, or when down ? who that was on tho 
ground ever drew in his neck to avoid the stroke ? so great is the force of 
practice, deliberation and custom! shall this then be done by 

A Samnite rascal, worthy his employ? 
And shall a man born to glory have so soft a part in his soul as not to b© 
able to fortify himself by reason and reflection ? The sight of the gladiator's 
combats is by some looked on as cruel and inhuman, and I do not know, as 
it is at present managed, but it may be so; but when the guilty fought, w© 
might receive by our ears perhaps, by our eyes we could not, better in- 
structions to harden us against pain and death. 

XVIII. I have now done with exercise, custom, and a sense of honour ; pro- 
ceed we now to consider the force of reason, unless you have something to reply 
to what has been said. A. That I should interrupt you ! by no means ; for your 
discourse has brought me over to your opinion. M. It is the Stoics' business then 
to determine if pain be an evil or not, who endeavour to shew by some strained 
and trifling conclusions, which are nothing to the purpose, that pain is no evil. 
My opinion is, that whatever it is, it is not so great as it appears ; and I say, that 
men are influenced more by some false representations and appearance of it, and 
that all which is really felt is tolerable. Where shall I begin then 1 shall I su- 
perficially go over what I said before, that my discourse may have a greater 
scope 1 

This then is agreed on by all, both by the learned and unlearned, that it be- 
comes the brave and magnanimous, those that have patience and a spirit abor© 
this world, not to give way to pain; and every one commends a man who bears 
it thus. Whatever then is expected from a bra»e man, and is rommendahle in 
him, it would be base in any one to be afraid of at its approach, or not to bear 
When it came. But I would have you be aware, that all the right affections of the 
eoul come under the name of virtues; this is not properly the name of them all, 
but that they all have their name from some leading virtue : for virtue comes from 
vir the Latin name of a man. and courage is the peculiar distinction of a man. 
Now there are two distinct offices in this, a contempt of death, and of pain. We 
must then provide ourselves with these ; if we would be men of virtue, or rather* 

7 



42 THE TUSCULAJt DISPUTATIONS 

if we would be men, because virtue takes its very name from vir, i. e. man. 

XIX, You may inquire perhaps how 1 and such an inquiry is not amiss, for 
philosophy is ready with her assistance. Epicurus offers himself to you, far from 
a bad man, or rather a very good one ; he advises no more than he knows ; Des- 
pise, saith he, pain. Who is it saith this] the same who calls pain the greatest 
of all evils, not very consistently indeed. Let us hear him. If the pain is at the 
height, it must needs be short. I must have that over again, for I do not appre- 
hend what you mean by at the height or short. That is at the height, than which 
nothing is higher ; that is short, than which nothing is shorter. I do not regardt 
the greatness of any pain, from which, by the shortness of its continuance, I shall 
be delivered almost before it reaches rne. But if the pain be as great as that of 
Philoctetes, it will appear great indeed to mc, but yet not the greatest I am capa* 
ble of; for the pain is confined to my foot : but my eye may pain me, I may have 
a pain in the head, sides, lungs, every part of me. It is far then from being at the 
height ; therefore, says he, pain of a long continuance has more pleasure in it than 
uneasiness. Now I cannot bring myself to say, so great a man talks nonsense* 
but I imagine he laughs at us. My opinion is, that the greatest pain (I say, the 
greatest, though it may be ten a'toms less than another) is not therefore short be- 
cause acute ; I could name you a great many good men who have been tormented 
many years with the acutest pains of the gout. But this cautious man doth not 
determine the measure of that greatness ; nor, as I know, doth be fix what he 
means by great with regard to the pain, nor short with respect to its continuance. 
Let us pass him by then as one who says just nothing at all ; and let us force him 
to acknowledge, notwithstanding he might behave himself somewhat boldly under 
his colic and his strangury, that no remedy against pain can be had from him who 
looks on pain as the greatest of all evils. We must apply then for relief else- 
where, and no where better to all appearance than from those who place the chief 
good in honesty, and the greatest evil in infamy. You dan* not so much as groan 
or discover the least uneasiness in their company, for virtue itself speaks to you 
through them. 

XX. Will you, when you may observe children at Laeedaemon, young 
men at Olympia. Barbarians in the amphitheatre, rece.ve deep woundst 
end never once open their mouths ; will you, I say, when any pa n twitch- 
es you, cry out like a woman ? should you not rather hear it with resolu- 
tion and constancy ? and not cry. It is intolerable, nature cannot bear it. 
I hear what you say, boys bear this, thereto by glory : somebear it through 
shame, many through fear ; and do we imagine that m,ture cannot bear 
what is borne by ninny, and in such different circumstances? nature not 
only bears it, but challenges it. for there is not'.ing with her preferable to 
it, nothing she desires more than credit and reputation, than praise, than 
honour, and glory. I was desirous of describing this under many names, 
nnd I have used many, that you may have the clearer idea of it ; for I 
meant to say, that whatever is desirable of itself, proceeding from virtue, 
or placed in virtue, and commendable on its own account, (which I should 
■ooner call the only good thnn the chief good.) is what men should prefer 
above all things. As we declare thus of honesty, the contrary i9 due to 
infamy : nothing is so odious, so detestable, nothing so unworthy a man*- 



01 CICERO. 4$ 

which if you are convinced of, (for at the beginning of this discourse you 
allowed, that there appeared to you more evil in infamy than pain,) what 
remains is, that you have the command over yourself. 

XXI. Though the expression may not seem justifiable to bid you divide 
yourself, assign to one part of man command, to the other sulm ssicn, yet 
it is not without its elegancy. For the soul admits of a two-fold division, 
one of which partakes of reason, the other is without it; when therefor© 
we are ordered to give a law to ourselves, the meaning is, that re.iscn 
should restrain our rashness. Every soul of man has naturally som th ng 
aoft, low, enervated in a manner, and languid. Were there nothing be- 
sides this, men would be the greatest of monsters ; but there is present to 
every man reason, which presides and gives law to all, which by improv- 
ing itself, and making continual advances, becomes perfect virtue. It le- 
hoves a man then to take care, that reason has the command over that part 
to which obedience is assigned; as a master over his slave, a general 'over 
his army, a father over his son. If that part of the soul misbehaves, which 
I call soft, if it gives itself up to lamentations, and womanish tears, it should 
be restrained, and committed to the care of friends and relations, for we 
often see those brought to order by shame, whom no reasons can effect. 
Therefore we should confine those like our servants, in safe custody, with 
chains. But those who have more resolution, yet are not so stout as they 
should be, we should encourage with our advice, to behave as good soldiers, 
recollecting themselves to maintain that honor. Their wise man at Greece, 
in the Niptrae, deth not lament too much over his wounds, or rather he it 
moderate in his grief: 

Move slow, my friends, your hasty speed refrain, 

Lest by your motion you increase my pain. 
Pacuvius is better in this than So[ hocles, for with him Utysses bemoans 
his wounds too lamentably ; for the very people who carried him after he 
was wounded, though his grief was moderate, yet considering the digni- 
ty of the man, did not scruple to say, 

E'en thou, Ulysses, long to war inur'd, 

Thy wounds, though great, too feebly hast endur'd. 
The wise poet understood that custom was no contemptible instructor how 
to bear pain. But the same complains with more decency, though in great 
pain, 

Assist, support me, never leave me so; 

Unbind ray wounds ; oh ! execrable woe ! 
He begins to give way, but instantly checks himself. 

Away, begone, but cover first the sore; 

For your rude hands but make my pains the more. 
Do you observe how he constrains himself, not that his bodily pains were 
less, but he corrects the sense of them : Therefore in the conclusion of 
the Niptrae he blames others, even when he was dying. 

Complaint on fortune may become the man. 

None but a woman will thus weeping stand- 
That soft place in his soul obeys his reason, as an abashed soldier doth 
his stern commander. 



44 THE TtJaCUJLA* DISPUTATION! 

XXII. "Whenever a completely wise man shall appear, (such indeed 
wo have never as yet seen, but the philosophers have described, in their 
Writings, what sort of man is to be, if ever he is); such an one, or at 
Jeast hi3 perfect reason, will have the same authority over the inferior part 
as a good parent has over his dutiful children, he will bring it to obey his 
nod, without any trouble or pains. He will rouse himself, prepare and arm 
himself to oppose pain as he would an enemy. Ifyoo inouire whntarmshe will 
provide himself with ; he will st ime a resolution, 

will reason with himself; he will say thus to himself, Take care that you 
nre guilry of nothing base, laniruid, or unmanly. He will turn over in his 
mind all the different kinds of honesty. Zeno of Elea will be presepted to 
him, who Buffered every thing rather, than ires in the 

design of putting an end to the r Me will reflect on Anaxarchus, 

the Democritian, who having fallen into I 

Cyprus, without the leart entreaty oi submitted to every kind of 

torture. Calanus, the Til . and a 

barbarian, born at the foot of Mount I fitted himself to 

the flames by a free volunti '.he toothache, or 

a pain in the foot, or if the body be any w . ■<}, cannot bear it. Our 

Beutiments of pain, as well as pi 

.are so enervated and dissolved, that we cannot bear the sting of a bee with- 
out crying out. But C. Marius, a plain countryman, but of a manly soul, 
when he was cut, as I mentioned above, at first refused to be tied down, 
and he is the first instance of any one's being cut without tying down : why 
did others bear this afterwards from t ople ? You see then 

pain is more in opinion than nature, and yet the same Marius is a proof that 
there is something very sharp in pain, for he would not submit to have the 
other thish cut. So that he bore his pain with resolution ; but as a man, 
he was not willing to undergo any greater without evident cause. Tho 
whole then consists in this, to have the command over yourself: I have ai- 
re idy toll you what kind of command this is, and by considering what is 
Bust consistent with patience, fortitude, and greatness of soul, a man not 
only refrains himself, but by seme means or other even m in it- 

felf. 

XXII. Even as in a battle, the dastardly and timorous soldier throws 
awa\ his shield on the first appearance of an enemy, nnd runs as fust as he 
can, and on that account tases his life sometimes, though his boJy is never 
touched, when he who stands his grouud meets with nothing like this : so, 
they who canno: bear the appearances of pain, throw themseives away, and 
give themselves up to nfdiction and dismay. But they that oppose ir, 
are often more than a match for it. For the body has a certain resemblance 
to the soul : as burdens are the easier borne the more the body is exerted, 
and they crush us if we Live way : so the soul by exerting itself resists tho 
whole weight that would oppress it; but if it yields, it is so pressed, that it 
cannot support itself. And if we consider things truly, the soul sho*uld ex- 
*rt itself in every pursuit, for that is the only security for its do- 



OF CIOEKO. 



45 



tog its duty. But this should be principally regarded in pain, not to 
do anything timidly, dastardly, basely, slavishly, or effeminately, and 
above all things we should dismiss and discharge that Philoctetean cla- 
mour. A man is allowed sometimes to groan, but } T et seldom, but it is 
not sufferaWe even in a woman to howl: and this is the very funeral lam- 
entation which is forbidden by the twelve tables. Nor doth a wise or brave 
man ever groan, unless when lie exerts himself to give his resolution great- 
er force, as they that run in the stadium, make as mucl they can. 
It is the same with the wrestlers; but the boxers, when they aim a blow 
with the cestus at their adversary, give a groan, not because they are in 
pain, or from a sinking of their t-pi se their whole body is up- 
on the stretch when they throw out these gi comes the 
stronger. 

XXIV. What! they who would speak louder than ordinary, are they satisfied 
with working their jaws, sides, or tongue, or stretching the common organs of 
speech? the whole body is at full stret( h, if I may be allowed the expression- 
etery nerve is excited to assist their voice I have actually seen M. Antony's 
knee touch the ground when he was speaking with vehemence for himself with 
relation to the Varian law. As the engiues you throw stones or darts with, throw 
them out with the greater force the more they aie strained and drawn back so it 
is in speaking, running, or boxing, the more people strain themselves, the greater 
their force. Since therefore this exertion has so much atributed to it, we should 
apply it in pain, if it helps to strengthen the mind. But if it is a groan of lamen- 
tation, if it is weakness or abjectness ; I should scarce call him a man who com 
plied with it. For even supposing that such groaning give any ease, it should be 
considered, whether it was consistent with a brave and resolute man. But if it 
doth not ease our pain, why should we debase ourselves to no purpose? for what 
is more unbecoming in a man than to cry like a woman ? But this precept about 
pain is not confined to that ; we should apply this exertion of the soul to every 
thing else. Doth anger, rage, or lust prevail ? We should have recourse to the 
same magazine, and apply to the same arms ; but since our subject is pain, we 
will let the others alone. To bear pain then sedately and calmly, it is of great 
use to consider with all onr soul, as the saying is, how noble it is to do so, for we 
are naturally desirous (as I said before, nor can it be too often repeated) and very 
much inclined to what is honest, of which if we discover but the least glimpse 
there is nothing we are not prepared to undergo and suffer to attain it.* From 
this impulse of our minds, this tendency to true praise and honesty, such dangers 
are supported in war, brave men are not sensible of their wounds in action* 3 or 
if they are sensible, prefer death to the departing but the least step from their 
honour. The Decii saw the shining swords ot their enemies when they rushed 
into the battle. The dying nobly, and the glory, made all fear of death of lit.ie 
weight. Do you imagine that Epaminondas groaned when he perceived that his 
life flowed out with his blood ? for he left his country triumphing over the Lace- 
daemonians, whereas he found it in subjection to them. These are the comforts 
these are the things that assuage the greatest pain. 

XXV. You may ask, how the case is in peace ? what is to be done at home ? 
how we are to behave in bed? You bring me back to the philosophers, who sol 



46 THB TXJ8CU1AN DISPUTATIONS 

dam go to war. Among these, Dionysius of Heraclea, a man certainly of no 
resolution, having learned the bravery of Zeno, quitted it on being in pain : for 
being tormented with a pain in his kidneys, in bewailing himself he cried out, that 
those things were false which he had formerly conceired of pain. Who, when 
his fellow-disciple Cleanthes asked him why he had changed his opinion, an- 
swered, Whoever had applied so much time to philosophy, and cannot bear 
pain, may he a sufficient proof that pain is an evil. I have spent many 
years at philosophy, and yet cannot bear pain. Pain is therefore an evil. 
It is leported that Cleanthes on that struck his foot on the ground, and 
repeated a verse out of the Epigouae : 

Amphiaraus, hear'st thou this blow? 
He meant Zeno : he was sorry the other degenerated from him. 

But it was not so with our Posidonius, whom I have often seen myself, 
and I will tell you what Pompey used to say of him: that when he came 
to Rhodes, on his leaving Syria, he had great desire to hear Posidonius, 
but was informed that he was \r>ry ill of a severe fit of the gout: yet he 
had great inclination to pay a visit to so famous a philosopher. When he 
had seen him, and paid his compliments, and had spoken with great res- 
pect of him, he said he was very sorry that he could not have a lecture 
from him. But, indeed you may, replied the other, nor will I suffer any 
bodily pain to occasion so great a man to visit me in vain. On this Pomp- 
ey relates, that as he lay on his bed. he disputed gravely and copiously on 
this very subject, that nothing was'good but what was honest: that in his 
paroxysms he would often say, Pain, it is to no purpose, notwithstanding 
you are troublesome, I will never acknowledge you an evil : and in gener- 
al all honorable and illustrious labors become tolerable by disregarding 
them. 

XXVL Do we not observe, that where those exercises called gymnas- 
tic are in esteem, those who enter the lists never concern themselves about 
dangers? where the praise of riding and hunting prevails, they who pur- 
sue this decline no pain ? What shall I say of our own ambitious pursuits 
or desire of honor ? What fire will not candidates run through to gain a 
single vote ? Therefore Africanus had always in his hand the Socratic 
Xenophon, being particularly pleased with his saying, that the same la- 
bors were not equally heavy to the general and to the common man, be- 
cause honor itself made labor lighter to the general. But yet, so it hap- 
pens, that even with the illiterate vulgar, an opinion of honor prevails, 
though they cannot discern what it is. They are led by report and com- 
mon opinion to look on that as honorable, which has the general voice. 
Not that I would have you, should the multitude be ever so fond of you, 
Tely on their judgment, nor approve of what they think right; you must 
use your own judgment. Should you have a pleasure in approving what 
is right, you will not only have the mastery over yourself, (which I re- 
commend to you just now.) but over every body, and every thing. Lay this 
down then, that a great capacity, and most lofty elevation of soul, which dis- 
tinguishes itself most by despising and looking down with contempt on 



OF CICERO. 47 

pain, is the most excellent of all things, and the more so, if it doth not 
depend on the people, nor aims at applause, but derives its satisfaction 
from itself. Besides, to me indeed everything seems the more commendable, 
the less the people are courted, and the fewer eyes there are to see it. Not 
that you should avoid the public, for every generous action loves the pub- 
lic view ; yet no theatre for virtue is equal to a consciousness of it. 

XXV [I. And let this be principally considered, that this bearing of pain 
which I have often said is to be strengthened by an exertion of the soul, 
should be the same in every thing. For you meet with many who, through 
a desire of victory, or for glory, or to maintain their rights, cr their liberty, 
have boldly received wounds, and bore themselves up under them; and 
the very same persons, by remitting from that intenseness of their minds, 
were unequal to bearing the pain of a disease. For they did not support 
themselves under their sufferings by reason or philosophy, but by inclina- 
tion and glory. Therefore some barbarians and savage people are able to* 
fight very stoutly with the sword, but cannot bear sickness like men : but 
the Grecians, men of no great courage, but as wise as human nature will 
admit of, cannot look an enemy in the face, yet the same will bear to be 
visited with sickness tolerably, and manly enongh ; and the Cimbrians and 
Celtiberians are very alert in battle, but bemoan themselves in sicknesss 
for nothing can be consistent which has not reason for its foundation. But 
when you see those who are led by inclination or opinion, not retarded by- 
pain in their pursuits, nor hindered from obtaining them, you should con- 
clude, either that pain is no evil, or that, nothwithstanding whatever is dis- 
agreeable, and contrary to nature, you may choose to call an evil, yet it is 
so very small, that it may so effectually be got the better of by virtue as 
quite to disappear. Which I would have you think of night and day ; for 
this argument will spread itself and take up more room sometime or other, 
and not be confined to pain alone * for if the motives to all our actions are 
to avoid disgrace and acquire honor, we may not only despise the stings 
of pain, but the storms of fortune, especially if we have recourse to that 
retreat which was our yesterday's subject. As, if some god had advised 
one who was pursued by pirates, to throw himself overboard, saying, 
there is something at hand to receive you, either a dolphin will take you 
up as it did Arion of Methymna, or those horses sent by Neptune to Pe- 
lops (who are said to have carried chariots so rapidly as to be borne up by 
the waves) will receive you, and convey you wherever you please, he 
would forego all fear : so, though your pains be ever so sharp and disa- 
greeable, if they are not so great as to be intolerable, you see where you 
may betake yourself. I thought this would do for the present. But per- 
haps you still abide by your opinion. A. Not in the least, indeed ; and I 
hope I am freed by these two days' discourses from the fear of two things 
that I greatly dreaded. M. To-morrow then for rhetoric, as we were 
saying, but I see we must not drop our philosophy. A. No, indeed, we 
will have the one in the forenoon, this at the usual time. M. It shall be 
•o, and I will comply with your very laudable inclinations. 



48 THE TTJSCULAS DISPUTATIONS 

"BOOK III. 



OS GRIEF OF MIXD. 



What reason shall I assign Brutus, why, as we consist of soul and body, 
the art of curing and press] -o much sought after, 

and the invention of it, as being ascribed to the im- 

mortal gods ; but the medicine of the soul should neither be the object of 
inquiry, whilst it "was unknown, nor so much improved after its discove- 
ry, nor so well received or approved oi lisagreeable, and looked on 
with an envious < ;e soul judges of the 
pains anddisorders of the body, but we do not form any judgment of the soul 
by the body ? Hence it comes that the soul never judgeth of itself, but when 
that by which itsel f is j udged is in a b B ad nature given us faculties 
for discerning and viewing herself, and could we rh life by keeping 
our eye on her, o ainly would be in want of phil- 
osophy or learning. Bat, only with some 
few sparks, whicl -aved 
customs, that the 1;_ 

are connatural I :ne to 

maturity, would naturally a soon 

miliarized 
to all kinds of d 

almost to Bi we return - 

parents, and are pat into the h ibibe 

so many errors, that truth gives placi nature her- 

established opinion, 
of the appearanc 

and got by heart, and ma:. But when 

to these arc add . of in- 

structors, and the mukiru 

we ah from 

nature; bo that 

cribed all great] -. and 

popular glory, which 

pursues that only true honour, which timself 

busied in arrant trifles, and in pnrsni of virtue, 

but a shadowy represents 
substance, not a mere shadow. 

men, the free v re-eminent vir- 

tue : it is as it were tJ 

tendant on la men. But 

popular fame, which would pretend to imj 

ate, and generally comm< I I and immoral actions, and taints the 

appearance and beauty of the other, by assomi mblance of hon- 

esty. By not being able to discover the difference of these, some men, ig- 



r OF CICERO. 40 

norant of real excellence, and in what it consists, have been the destruo* 
tion of their country or of themselves. And thus the best men have env 
ed, not so much in their intentions, as by a mistaken conduct. What, is 
there no cure for those who are carried away by the love of money, or the 
lust of pleasures, by Which they are little short of madmen, which is the 
Case of all weak people? or it is because the disorders of the mind are 
less dangerous than those of the body? or because the body will admit of 
a cure, but the soul is incurable ? 

III. But there are more disorders of the mind than of the body, for the 
generality, and of a more dangerous nature ; for these very disorders are 
the more offensive, because they belong to the mind, and disturb that ; 
and the mind, when disordered, is, as Ennius saith, in a constant error ; 
it can neither bear nor endure any thing, and is under the' perpetual in- 
fluence of desires. Now What disorders can be worse to the body than 
these two distempers of the mind, (for I overlook other,) weakness, an<i 
desires ? But how indeed can it be maintained that the soul cannot pre- 
scribe to itself, when she invented the very medicine for the body ; when,- 
with regard to bodily cures, constitution and nature have a great share ; ; 
nor do all, who' suffer themselves to be cured, find instantly that effect ; 
but those minds which are disposed to be cured, and submit to the pre- 
cepts of the wise, may undoubtedly recover a healthy state ? Philosophy 
is certainly the medicine of the soul ; whose assistance we do not seek 
from abroad, as in bodily disorders, neither are we ourselves obliged to 
exert our utmost abilities in order to our cure. But as to philosophy in 
general, I have, I think, in my Hortensius sufficiently spoken of the credit 
and improvement it deserves : since that,- indeed, I have continually either 
disputed or written on its most material branches : and I have laid down 
In these books what 1 disputed with my particular friends at my Tuscu- 
lu'm : but as I have spoken in the two former of pain and death, the 
third day of our disputation shall make up this volume. When we came 
down into the academy, the day declining towards afternoon, I asked of 
one of those who were present a subject to discourse on; then the busi- 
ness was carried on in this manner. 

IV. A. My opinion is, that a wise man- is subject to grief. M. What, 
and to the other perturbations of mind, as fear, lusts, anger ? For these 
are pretty much like what the Greeks call ^a&r\. I might name them 
diseases, and that would be literal, but it is not agreeable to our way of 
speaking. For envy, delight^ and pleasure, are all called by the Greeks 
diseases, being motions of the mind repugnant to reason : but we, I think, 
are right, in calling the same motions of a disturbed soul, perturbations, 
very seldom' diseases ; unless it appears otherwise to you. A. I am of 
your opinion. M. And do you think a wise man subject to these ? A, 
Entirely, I think. M.- Then that boasted wisdom- is but of small account, 
if it differs so little from madness.- A. What ? doth every commotion of 
the mind seem to you to be madness ? M. Not to me only ; but I appre- 
hend, though I have often been surprised at it, that it appeared so to our 

3 



50 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 

ancestors many ages before Socrates: from whom is derived all that 
philosophy which relates to life and morals. A. How so ? 31. Because 
the name madness implies a sickness of the mind and disease, that is an 
unsoundness, and a distcmperature of mind, which they call maw 
The philosophers called all perturbations of the soul diseases, and their 
opinion was, that no fool was free from these; but all that are dia 
are unsound, and the minds of all fools are diseased, therefore all fools 
are mad. They held a soundness of the mind to depend on a certain 
tranquility and steadiness; they called that madness, where the mind 
was without these, because soundness was inconsistent with a perturbed 
mind, as well as a disordered body. 

V. Nor were they less ingenious in calling the state of the soul, de- 
void of the light of reason, " out of itself," i. e. mad. From whence we 
may understand, that they who gave these names to things were of the 
same opinion with Socrates, that all silly people were unsound, which 
the Stoics, as received from him, have carefully preserved; for wh; 
mind is distempered, (and as I just now said, the philosophers call all 
perturbed motions of the mind distempers,) is no more sound than a 
body in a fit of sickness. Hence it is. that wisdom is the sounds 
the mind, folly the distempered state, which is unsoundness, and that is 
madness; and these arc much better expressed by the Latin words than 
the Greek: which you will find in many other places. But of that else- 
where: now, to our present purpose. The very force of the word -peaks 
what, and what kind of thing it is we inquire after. For we must neces- 
sarily understand by the sound, those whose minds are under no pertur- 
bation from any motion, as it were a disease. Tiny who are differently 
affected we must necessarily call unsound. So that nothing is better than 
what is usual in Latin, to say, that they who are run away with by their 
lust or anger, have quitted the command over then. 
includes lust, for anger is defined to be the lust of revenge. Th< 
who arc said not to be masters of ti. 

they are not under the government of r which is a 

nature the power over the whole soul. "Why ; id call this 

fjiavia, I do not easily apprehend ; but we define it much better than they, 
for we distinguish this madness, which, being allied to folly, is more ex- 
tensive, from what is called a furor, or raving. The Greeks indeed would 
do 60 too, but they have no one word that will express it ; what n 
furor, they call /AsXar^oXicr, as it the reason were affected only by a 
bile, and not disturbed as often by a violent rage, or fear, or grief. Thus 
we say Athamas, Alcmaeon, Ajax, and were ravii 

one affected in this manner was not allowed by the twelve tables t 
the management of his own affairs : therefore the ? Dot, if he is 

mad. but, if he begins to be raving. For they look upon madness 
an unsettled humour, that proceeded from not being of sound mind: yet 
such a one might take care of common things, execute the usual and 
customary duties of life ; but they thought one that was raving to be to- 



OF CICERO. 51 

tally blind ; which notwithstanding it is allowed to be greater than mad- 
ness, is nevertheless of such a nature, that a wise man may be even 
subject to raving. But this is another question : we will return to our 
purpose. 

VI. I think you said that it was your opinion, a wise man was subject 
to grief. And so indeed I think. M. It is natural enough to think so, 
for we are not the offspring of a rock : but we have by nature something 
soft and tender in our souls, which may be put into a violent motion by 
grief, as by a storm; nor did that Crantor, who was one of the most dis- 
tinguished of our academy, say this amiss: "I am by no means of their 
opinion, who talk so much in .praise of I know not what insensibility, 
which neither can be, nor ought to be; I would choose," saith he, "never 
to be ill ; but should I be so, I should choose to have my feeling, either 
supposing there was to be an amputation, or any other separation of my 
body. For that insensibility cannot be but at the expense of some un- 
natural wildness of mind, or stupor of body." But let us consider if to 
talk thus is not allowing that we are weak, and complying with our soft- 
ness. Notwithstanding, let us be hardy enough, not only to lop off every 
arm of our miseries, but pluck up every fibre of their roots : yet still 
something perhaps may be left behind, so deep doth folly strike its roots : 
but whatever may be left, it should be no more than is necessary. But 
let us be persuaded of this, that unless the mind be in a sound state, 
which philosophy alone can effect, thero can be no end of our miseries, 
Wherefore, as we begun, let us submit ourselves to it for a cure; we may 
be cured if we please. I shall advance something farther. I shall not 
treat of grief alone, though that indeed is the principal thing ; but, as I 
proposed, of every disorder of the mind, as the Greeks call it: and first, 
with your leave, I shall treat it in the manner of the Stoics, whose method 
is to reduce their arguments into a little room : then I shall enlarge mor« 
in my own way. 

VII. A man of courage relies on himself; I do not say is confident, be- 
cause by a bad custom of speaking that is looked on as a fault, though 
the word is derived from confiding in yourself, which is commendable. 
He who relies on himself, is certainly under no fear ; for there is a repug- 
nance betwixt this self-reliance and fear. Now whoever is subject to 
grief is subject to fear ; for whatever things we grieve at when present, 
we dread as hanging over us and approaching. Thus it comes about, that 
grief is repugnant to courage : it is very probable, therefore, that whoever 
is subject to grief, the same is liable to fear, and a kind of broken-heart- 
edness and sinking. Now whenever these befall a man, he is in a ser- 
vile state, and must own that he is overpowered. Whoever entertains these, 
must entertain timidity and cowardice. But these cannot befall a man 
of courage ; neither therefore can grief; but the man of courage is the on- 
ly wise man : therefore grief cannot befall the wise man. It is besides 
necessary, that whoever is brave, should be a man of great soul ; a great 
soul is invincible : whoever is invincible looks down with contempt on all 
thiDgs here, and hold them as below him. But no one can despise thoit 



82 Id! TUSCULAK DISPUTATIOUS 

things on amount of which he may he affected with grief: from whence 
it follows,fthat a wise man is never affected with grief, for all wise men 
are brave, therefore a wise man is not subject to grief. As the eye, when 
disordered, is not in a disposition for performing its office well ; and the 
other parts, with the body itself, when dislocated, cannot perform their 
office and appointment ; so the mind, when disordered, is ill disposed to 
do its duty : the office of the mind is to use its reason well ; but the mind 
of a wise man is always in condition to make the best use of his reason, 
therefore is never out of order. But grief is a disorder of the mind, there- 
fore a wise man will be always free from it. 

VIII. It is very probable, that what the Greeks mean by their 2wppova, 
is the temperate man with us, for they call all that virtue Swppotfuvirjv, 
which I one while name temperance, at another time moderation, nay 
sometimes modesty ; and I do not know whether that virtue may not be 
properly called frugality, which has a more confined meaning with the 
Greeks ; for they call frugal men ^pTjtfifAojg, which implies only that they 
are useful : but it has a more extensive meaning ; for all abstinence, all 
innocency, (which the Greeks have no common name for, they might have 
a(3yaf3eiav, for innocency is that affection of mind which would offend no 
one,) and several other virtues, are comprehended under frugality, which, 
were it not of the first rate, but confined into so small a compass as some 
imagine, the surname of Piso would not have been in so great esteem. 
But as we allow him not the name of a frugal man (frugi), who either 
quits his post through fear, which is cowardice; or who to his 
own use what WAS privately committed to his keeping, which is injustice; 
or who misbehaves through rashness, which is folly; for that reason the 
word frugality takes in these three virtues of fortitude, justice, and pru- 
dence, though this is common with all virtues, for they are all connected 
and knit together. Let us allow then frugality to be the other and fourth 
virtue ; the peculiar property of which seems to be, to govern and ai 

all tendencies to too eager a desire after any thing, to refrain lust, and 
preserve a decent steadiness in every thing. The vice in contrast to this, 
is called prodigality. Frugality I imagine is derived from fruits, the best 
thing the earth produces. Whoever is frugal then, or if it is more agree- 
able to you, whoever is moderate, temperate, such a one must of course 
be constant; whoever is constant, must be quiet: the quiet man must be 
void of all perturbation, therefore of grief likewise : and these are the pro- 
perties of a wise man ; therefore a wise man must be without grief. 

IX. So that Dionysius of Ileraclea is right when, upon this complaint 
of Achilles in Homer, 

Anger and rage my breast inflame, 
My glory tarnished, and since lost my fame, 
he reasons thus : Is the hand is it should be. when it is affected with a 
swelling, or is any other member of the body when it is not in its natural 
State ? Must not the mind then, when it is puffed up, or distended, be 
out of order ? But the mind of a wise man is without any disorder ; it ne- 
per swells, or is puffed up ; but the mind in anger is otherwise. A wise 



OF CICERO. 53 

man therefore is never angry ; for when he is angry, he lusts after some- 
thing, for whoever is angry naturally has a longing desire to give all pain 
he can to the person he thinks has injured him ; but whoever has this 
earnest desire must necessarily be much pleased with the accomplishment 
of his wishes ; hence he is delighted with his neighbor's misery ; which 
as a wise man is not capable of, he is not capable of anger. But should 
a wise man be subject to grief, he may likewise be subject to anger, from 
which being free, he must be void of grief. Besides, could a wise man 
be subject to grief, he might be so to pity, he might be open to a disposi- 
tion for envy j I do not say he might be envious, for that consists of the 
very act of envying. 

X. Therefore compassion and envy are consistent in the same man ; for 
whoever is uneasy at any one's adversity, is uneasy at another's prosper- 
ity: as Theophrastus laments the loss of his companion Callisthenes, and 
is disturbed at the success of Alexander ; therefore he saith, that Callis- 
thenes met with a man of great power and success, but who did not know 
how to make use of his good fortune ; and as pity is an uneasiness arising 
from the misfortunes of another, so envy is an uneasiness that proceeds 
from the good success of another : therefore whoever is capable of pity, is 
capable of envy. But a wise man is incapable of envy, and consequently of 
pity. For were a man used to grieve, to pity would be familiar to him ; 
therefore to grieve is far from a wise man. Though these reasonings of 
the Stoics, and their conclusions, are rather stiff and contracted, and re- 
quire a more diffuse and free way, yet great stress is to be laid on the 
opinions of those men, who have a peculiar bold and manly turn of thought. 
For our particular friends the Peripatetics, notwithstanding all their eru- 
dition, gravity, and flow of words, do not satisfy me about the moderation 
of these disorders and diseases of the soul, for every evil, though moder- 
ate, is in it nature great. But our business is to divest our wise man of 
all evil ; for as the body is not sound, though but slightly affected, so the 
mind under any moderate disorder loses its soundness : therefore the Ro- 
mans have with their usual skill called trouble, anguish, vexation, on ac- 
count of the analogy between a troubled mind and a diseased body, dis- 
orders. The Greeks call all perturbation of mind by pretty nearly the 
same name, for they name every turbid motion of the soul llanos, L e. a 
distemper. But we have given them a more proper name ; for a disorder 
of mind is very like a disease of the body. But lust doth not resemble 
sickness ; neither doth immoderate joy, which is a high and exulting pleas- 
ure of the mind. Fear, too, is not very like a distemper, though it bor- 
ders upon grief of mind, but properly as sickness of the body, it is so cal- 
led from its connexion with pain ; the same may be said of this grief: 
therefore I must explain whence this pain proceeds, i. e. the cause that 
occasions this grief, as it were a sickness of the body. For as physicians 
think they have found out the cure, when they have discovered the cause 
of the distemper, so we shall discover the method of cure when the caust 
is found out. 



54 THE TUSCULAX DISPUTATIONS 

XI. The -whole cause then is in opinion, not indeed of this grief alone, 
but of every other disorder of the mind ; which are of four sorts, but con- 
sisting of many parts. For as every disorder or perturbation is a motion 
of the mind, either devoid of reason, or in despite of reason, or in disobe- 
dience to reason, and that motion is incited by an opinion of good and evil ; 

four perturbations are divided equally into two parts : for two of them 
proceed from an opinion of good ; one of which is an exulting pleasure, 
i. e. a joy elate beyond m- ising from an opinion of some pi t 

great good: the other, which ma 

lust, is an imm i ''.nation after some c in dis- 

obedience i kinds, the exulting 

and the lust, have their rise- from an opini 

fear and grief, from that of evil. For fear is an opinion of - 
evil hanging over us: and grief is an opinion oi 
and indeed it is a fr> 

at it seems right. It is of that kind, thai wy at it thinks 

he has 

upon 
us 1 >y folly, if w 

with any ease or ion. Bat of the 

our business at pre* hat I 

proposed : ae 

to grief, whieh 1 ran by QO nr . frightful, horrid 

and detestable thing, whieh we should tly from with our utm 
with wind and tide, a- 1 may say. 

XII. Thai intoffani doth heap] l? lb- who 
sprung from Pelops, who formerly Btole Hippodainia from her father-in- 
law, king CEnomaus, and married her by force? 11 

from Jupiter himself. — how broken-hearted dot! 

Stand off, my friends, nor come within my shade, 
That no pollutions your sound hearts pervade, 
foul a stain my body doth partake. 
"Will you condemn yourself. Thyestes, and deprive yourself of life, on ac- 
count of the greatness of another's crime? "What! do you not look upon 
the son of the god of light, as unworthy his father's shining on him? 
Hollow his eyes, his body worn an 
His furrow\l cheeks his frequent I y ; 

His beard neglected, his combined I 
Rough and uncomb'd, bespeak his bitter cai 

foolish CEta, these are evils whieh you yourself are the cause of, and not 
occasioned by the accidents that befell you: and that you should behave 
thus, even when you had been inure I 1 after th 

swelling of the mind had subsided! wh< its (as 1 shall 

shew) in the notion of some recent evil: but your grief, I warrant 
proceeded from the less of your kingdom, nor your d Q hat- 

ed her, and perhaps with reason, but you could not calmly bear to part 
with your kingdom. But surely it is an impudent grief whichpreys upon a man 



OF CICERO. 



55 



for not being able to command those that arc free. Diojysius, it is true, 

the tyrant of Syracuse, when driven from his country taught a school at 
Corinth ; so incapable was he of living without some authority. What 
could he more impudent than Tarquin's making war against those who 
could not hear his tyranny; who, when he could not recover his kingdom 
by the forces of the Veientos and the Latins, is said to have betaken him- 
self to Ouma, and to have died in that city, of eld age and grief? 

XIII. Do you then think it can befall a wise man to he oppressed with 
grief, i. e. misery? for, as all perturbation is misery, grief is the rack it- 
self: lust is attended with heat; exulting joy with levity; fear with a 
meanness ; hat grief with something greater than these ; it consumes, tor- 
ments, afflicts, and disgraces a man ; it tears him, preys upon him, and 
quite puts an end to him. If wo do not divest ourselves of it, as to throw 
it quite off, we cannot he free from misery. And it is clear that there 
must he grief, where anything has the appearance of a present sore and 
oppressing evil. Epicurus is of opinion, that grief arises naturally from 
the imagination of any evil : that whosoever is eye-witness of any great 
misfortune, immediately conceives the like may befall himself, and be- 
comes sad instantly on it. The Cyrenaics think, that grief doth not arise 
from every kind of evil, but from unexpected, unforseon evil, and that is 
indeed of no small power to the heightening grief: for whatsoever comes 
of a sudden, is harder to bear. Hence these lines are deservedly commen- 
ded: 

I knew my son, when first he drew his breath, 
Deetin'd by fate to an untimely death : 
And when I sent him to defend the Gre< 
"Blows were his errand, not your sportive freaks. 
XIV. Therefore this ruminating beforehand upon evils which you see 
at distance, makes their approach more tolerable; and on this account, 
what Euripides makes Theseus say, is much commended. You will give 
me leave to translate them into Latin, as is usual with me. 
I treasur'd up what some learn'd sage did tell, 
And on my future misery did dwell ; 
I thought of bitter death, of being drove 
Far from my home by exile, and I strove 
With every evil to possess my mind, 
That, when they came, I the less care might find. 
But Euripides speaks that of himself, which Theseus said he had heard 
from some learned man, for he was a hearer of Anaxagoras : who, as they 
relate, on hearing of the death of his son, said, "I knew my son was mor- 
tal ;" which speech seems to intimate that such things afflict those who 
have not thought on them before. Therefore there is no doubt hut that 
all evils are the heavier from not being foreseen. Though, notwithstand- 
ing that this circumstance alone doth not occasion the greatest grief; yet 
as the mind, by forseeing and preparing for it, makes all grief the less, a 
man should consider all that may befall him in this life; and certainly 
the excellence of wisdom consists in taking a near view of things, and 
gaining a thorough experience in all human affairs ; fa not being surpris- 



56 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 

ed when anything happens: and in thinking, before the event of things, 
that there is nothing but what may come to pass. Wherefore, at the ve- 
ry time that our affairs are in the best situation, at that very moment we 
should be most thoughtful how to bear a change of fortune. A traveller, 
at his return home, ought to be aware of such things as dangers, 1 
&c, the debauchery of his son, the death of his wife, or a daughter's ill- 
ness. He should consider that these are common accidents, and may 
happen to him, and should be no news to him if they do happen ; but if 
things fall out better than he expected, he may look upon it as clear gain. 

XY. Therefore, as Terenee has so well expressed what he borrowed 
from philosophy, shall not we, the fountain from whence he drew it. say 
the same in a better manner, and abide by it more steadily ? Hence is 
that same steady countenance, which, according to Xantippe, her husband 
Socrates always had : she never observed any difference in his looks when 
he went out, and when he came home. Yet the look of that old Roman 
M. Crassus, who, as Lueilius saith, never mailed but once in his lifetime, 
was not of this kind, bat placid and serene, lor s » we are told. He indeed 
might well have the same look who never changed his mind, from whence 
the countenance has ha expression* So that I am ready to borrow of the 
Cyrenaies those arms against the accidents and events of life, by means 
of which, by long premeditation ak the force of all approaching 

evils ; and at the same time, I think that those very evils themselves arise 
more from opinion than nature: for if they were real, no forecast could 
make them lighter. But I shall speak more particularly lo these when I 
shall have first considered Epicurus's opinion, who thinks that all must 
sarily be uneasy who perceive themselves in any evils, let them be 
either foreseen and expected, or habitual to them : for. with him. evils are 
not the less by reason of their eontinuance, nor the lighter for having 
been foreseen; and it is folly to ruminate on evils to come, or that, 
haps, may never come ; every evil is disagreeable enough when it doth 
come: but he who is constantly consider!! •• evil may befall him, 

charges himself with a perpetual evil ; for should such evil never light on 
him, he voluntarily takes to himself unnecessary misery, s<> that he is un- 
der constant uneasiness, whether he meets with any evil, or only thinks 
of it. But he places the alleviation of grief on two things an avocation 
from thinking on evil, and a call to the contemplation of pleasure. Rot? 
he thinks the mind may be under the power of reason, and follow her 
directions: he forbids os then t- mind trouble, and eatflsms « 'ff fr« >m sorrow- 
ful reflections : he throws a mist over the contemplation of misery. Having 
sounded a retreat from these, he drives our thong - encourages 

them to view and engage the whole mind in the various frith which 

he thinks the life of a wise man abounds, either from reflecting on the 
past, or the hope of what is bo some. 1 have said these things iu my own 
way, the Epicureans have theirs : what th< IS, how they 

say it is of little consequence. 

XYI. h\ the first place, they are wrong in forbidding men to premedi- 
tate on futurity, for there is nothing that breaks the edge of grief and 



OF CICERO. 57 

lightens it more, than considering, all life long, that there is nothing but 
what may happen ; then considering what human nature is, on what con- 
ditions life was given, and how we may comply with them. The effect of 
which is, not to be always grieving, but never ; for whoever reflects on the 
nature of things, the various turns of life, the weakness of human nature, 
grieves indeed at that reflection ; but that grief becomes him as a wise man 
for he gains these two points by it ; when he is considering the state of 
human nature, he is enjoying all the advantage of philosophy, and is pro- 
vided with a triple medicine against adversity. The first is, that he has 
long reflected that such things might befall him, which reflection alone 
contributes much towards lessening all misfortunes : the next is, that he 
is persuaded, that we should submit to the condition of human nature : 
the last is, that he discovers what is blameable to be the only evil. But 
it is not your fault that something lights on you, which it was impossible 
for man to avoid ; for that withdrawing of our thoughts he recommends, 
when he call us off from contemplating on our misfortunes, is imaginary ; 
for it is not in our power to dissemble or forget those evils that lie heavy 
on us ; they tear, vex, and sting us, they burn us up, and leave no breath- 
ing-time ; and do you order us to forget them, which is against nature, 
and at the same time deprive us of the only assistance nature affords, the 
being accustomed to them, which, though it is a slow cure that time brings, 
is a very powerful one ? You* order me to employ my thoughts on some- 
thing good, and forget my misfortunes. You would say something, and 
worthy a great philosopher, if you thought those things good which are 
best suited to the dignity of human nature. 

XVII. Should Pythagoras, Socrates, or Plato, say to me, why are you 
dejected, or grieve? Why do you faint, and yield to fortune, who perhaps 
may have power to arrest and disturb you, but should not quite unman you? 
Virtue has great force, rouse your virtues if they droop. Take fortitude for 
your guide, which will give you such spirits, that you will despise every 
thing that can befall man, and look on them as trifles. Join to this tem- 
perance, which is moderation, and which was just now called frugality, 
which will not suffer you to do any thing base or bad ; for what is worse 
or baser than an effeminate man ? Not even justice will suffer you to do 
so, which seems to have the least weight in this affair, which notwith- 
standing will inform you that you are doubly unjust : when you require 
what doth not belong to you, that you who are born mortal, should be in 
the condition of the immortals, and take it much to heart that you are to 
restore what was lent you. What answer will you make to prudence, 
who acquaints you that she is a virtue sufficient of herself, both for a good 
life and a happy one ? whom, it would be unreasonable to commend and 
so much desire, unless she were independent, having everything centring in 
herself, and not obliged to look out for any supply, being self-sufficient. 
Now, Epicurus, if you invite me to such goods as these, I will obey, fol- 
low, and attend you as my guide, and even forget, as you order me, my 
misfortunes; and I do this much«iore readily from a persuasion thatthey 
are not to be ranked amongst evils* But you are for bringing my thoughts 

9 



58 THE TUSCUIAN DISPUTATIONS 

over to pleasure. What pleasures ? pleasures of the body, I imagine, or 
such as are recollected or presumed on account of the body. Is this all?. 
Do I explain your opinion right? for his disciples used to deny that we 
understand Epicurus. This is what he saith, and what that curious fel- 
low old Zeno, who is one of the sharpest of them, used in my hearing at 
Athens to enforce and talk so loudly of; that he alone was happy, who 
could enjoy present pleasure, and who was persuaded that he should en- 
joy it without pain, either all or the greatest part of his life; or should 
any pain interfere, if it was the sharpest, it must be short ; should it be 
of longer continuance, it would have more of sweet than bitter in it : that 
whosoever reflected on these things would be happy, especially if satisfied 
with the good things he had enjoyed, without fear of death, or the gods. 

XVIJLL You have here a representation o£ a happy life according to 
Epicurus, in the words of Zeno, so that there is no room for contradiction. 
What then ? Can the proposing and thinking of such a life make Thyes- 
tes' grief the less, or (Eta's, of whom I spoke above, or that of Telamon, 
who was driven from his country to penury and banishment? on whom 
they exclaimed thus : 

Is this the man surpassing glory rais'd t 

Is this that Telamon so highly prais'd 

By wondering Greece, at whose sight, like the sun, 

All others with diminjsh'd lustre shone? 
Now, should any one like him be depressed with the loss of his fortune, 
he must apply to those old grave philosophers for relief, not to these vo- 
luptuaries: for what great good do they promise? Allow we, that to be 
without pain is the chief good? yet that is not called pleasure. But it is 
not necessary at present to go through the whole : the question is, if by 
advancing thus far we shall abate our grief? Grant that to be in pain is 
the greatest evil ; whosoever then has proceeded so far as not to be 
in pain, is he therefore in immediate possession of the greatest good? 
What, Epicurus, do we use any evasions, and not allow in our own words 
the same to be pleasure, which you are used to boast of with such assur- 
ance? Are these your words or not? This is what you say in that book 
which contains all the doctrine of your school. I will perform the office 
of an interpreter, lest any should imagine I have invented. Thus you 
speak : " Nor can I form any notion of the chief good, abstracted from 
those pleasures which are perceived by taste, or from what depends on 
hearing music, or abstracted from ideas raised by external objects, which 
are agreeable motions ; or those other pleasures, which are perceived by 
the whole man from his senses ; nor can the pleasures of the mind be 
any ways said to constitute the only good: for I always perceived my 
mind to be pleased with the hopes of enjoying those things I mentioned 
above, and presuming I should enjoy them without any interruption from 
pain :" and from these words any one may understand what pleasure 
Epicurus was acquainted with. Then he speaks thus, a little lower down ; 
" I have often inquired of those who are reputed to be wise men what 
would be the remaining good, if they should withdraw these, unless they 



of cicero. t>y 

meant to give us nothing but words ? I could never learn any thing from 
them ; and unless they choose that all virtue and wisdom should vanish 
and come to nothing, they must say with me, that the only road lies in 
those pleasures which I mentioned above." What follows ia much the 
same, and Ms whole book on the chief good every where abounds with 
the same opinions. Will you then invite Telamon to this kind of life to 
ease his grief? and should you observe any of your friends under affliction, 
would you prescribe to him a sturgeon before a treatise of Socrates ? or 
a concert rather than Plato ? or lay before him the beauty and variety of 
some garden, present him with a nosegay, burn perfumes, and bid him 
be crowned with a garland of roses ami woodbines ? Should y.ou add one 
thing more, you would certainly wipe out all his grief. 

XIX. Epicurus must allow of these ; or he must take out of his book 
what I just now said was a literal translation ; or rather he must destroy 
his whole book, for it 'is stuffed with pleasures. We must inquire, then, 
how we can ease him of his grief, who can say thus : 

My present state proceeds from fortune's stings ; 

My birth I boast of a descent from kings ; 

Hence may you see from what a noble height 

I'm sunk by fortune to this abject plight. 
What ! to ease this grief, m*ist we mix him a cup of sweet wine, or some- 
thing of that kind ? Lo ! the same poet presents us with another some- 
where else : 

I, Hector, once so great, aow claim your aid. 
We should assist her, for she looks out for help : 

Where shall I now apply, where seek support ? 

Where hence betake me, or to whom resort ? 

No means remain of comfort or of joy, 

In flames my palace, and in ruins Troy: 

Each wall, so late superb, deformed nods, 

And not an altar left t' appease the gods. 
You know what should follow, and particular this : 

Of father, country, and of friends bereft, 

Not one of all those sumptuous temples left; 

Which, whilst the fortunes of our house did stand, 

With rich wrought ceilings spoke the artist's hand. 
excellent poet? though despised by those who sing the verses of 
Euphorion. He is sensible that all things which come on a sudden are 
harder to be borne. Therefore, when he had set off the riches of Priam 
to the best advantage, which had the appearance of a long continuance, 
what doth he add ? 

Lo, these all perish'd in one blazing pile ; 
The foe old Priam of his life beguiled, 
And with his blood thy altar, Jove, denied. 
Admirable poetry ! There is something mournful in the subject, as well as 
the words and measure. We must drive away this grief of hers : how 
is that to be done : Shall we lay her on a bed of down ; introduce a 



60 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 

singer ; shall we burn cedar, or present her with some pleasant liquor, 
and provide her something to eat ? Are these the good things which re- 
move the most afflicting grief? for you but just now said you knew of no 
other good. I should agree with Epicurus that we ought to be called off 
from grief to contemplate good things, were it once settled what was good. 
XX. It may be said, What! do you imagine Epicurus really meant these 
and that he maintained anything so sensual 1 Indeed I do not imagine so, 
for I am sensible he has said many excellent things, and with great gravi- 
ty. Therefore, as I said before, I am speaking of his acuteness. not his 
morals. Though he should hold those pleasures in contempt, which bejust 
now commended, yet I must remember wherein he places the chief good. 
He did not barely say this, but he has explained what he would say : ho 
saith, that taste, embracings, sports, and music, and those forms which af- 
fect the eyes with pleasure, are the chief good. Have I invented this? 
have I misrepresented him? I should be glad to be confuted; for what 
am I endeavoring at, but to clear up truth in every question ? Well, but 
th« same saith, that pleasure is at its height where pain ceases, and that to 
be free from all pain is the greatest pleasure. Here are three very great 
mistakes in a very few words. Oue is, that he contradicts himself; for, 
but just now. he could not imagine anything good, unless the senses were 
in a manner tickled with some pleasure : but now, to be free from pain is 
the highest pleasure. Can any one contradict himself more ? The other 
mistake is, that where there is naturally a threefold division, the first, to be 
pleased; next, net to be in pain ; the last, to be equally distant from pleas- 
ure and pain: he imagines the fust and the last to be the same, and makei 
no difference betwixt pleasure and a cessation of pain. The last mistake is 
in common with some others ; which is this, that as virtue is the most dc- 
Kirablo thing, and as philosophy was investigated for the attainment of it, 
lie has sej arated the chief good from virtue : but he commends virtue, and 
that frequently ; but indeed C. Graechus, when he had made the largest 
distributions of the public money, and had exhausted the treasury, yet spoke 
much of preserving it. What signifies what they say, when we see what 
they do ? That Piso who was surnamed Frugal, harangued always against 
the law that was proposed for distributing the corn, but when it had pasied 
though a consular man, he came to receive the corn. Gracchus ol - 
Piso standing in the court, and asked him, in the hearing of the people, how it 
was consistent for him to take corn by a law he had himself opposed ? " I 
was against your dividing my goods to every man as you thought proper, 
but, as you do so, I claim my share." Did not this grave and wise man 
sufficiently shew that the public revenue was dissipated by the Sempronian 
law 1 Read Gracchus's speeches, and you will pronounce him patron of 
the treasury. Epicurus denies that any one can live pleasantly who doth 
not lead a life of virtue ; he denies that fortune has any power over a wise 
man: he prefers a spare diet to great plenty; maintains a wise man to be 
always happy: — all these things become a philosopher to say. but they 
are not couestent with pleasure. But the reply is, that he doth not mean 



OF CICERO. 61 

that pleasure; let h"m mean any pleasure, it must be such a one as makes 
no part of virtue. But suppose we are mistaken as to his pleasure, are we 
■o too as to pain ? I maintain therefore the impropriety of that man's talk- 
ing of virtue, who would measure eveiy great evil by pain, 

XXI. And indeed the Epicureans, those best of men, for there is no or- 
der of men more innocent, complain, that I take great pains to inveigh a- 
gainst Epicurus, as if we were rivals for some honor or distinction. 1 place 
the chief good in the mind, he in the body ; I in virtue, he in pleasure : and 
the Epicureans are up in arms, and implore the assistance of their neigh- 
bors, and many are ready to fly to their aid. But, as for my part, I de- 
clare I am very indifferent about the matter, let it take what turn it may. 
For what! is the contention about the Punic war? on which very subject, 
though M. Cato and L. Lentulus were of flifferent opinion, there was no 
difference betwixt them. These behave with too much heat, especially as 
the cause they would defend is no very reputable one, and for which they 
dare not plead either in the senate, or assembly of the people, befoie the. 
army of the censors: but 1 will dispute this with thorn another time, and 
with such temper that no difference may arise, for I shall be ready to yield 
to their opinioas when founded on truth. Only I must give them this ad- 
vice; That were it ever so true, that a wise man regards nothing but the 
body; or, to express myself with more decency, has no view but to pleaso 
himself, or to make all things depend on his own advantage; as such things, 
are not very commendable, they should confine them to their ovvu breasts 
and leave off to talk with parade of them. 

XXII. What remains is the opinion of the Cyrenaics, who think that 
men grieve when anything happens unexpectedly. And that is, indeed, 
as I said before, a great aggravation ; and I know that it appeared so to 
Chrysippus, '-Whatever falls out unexpected is so much the heavier." 
But the whole does not turn on this ; though the sudden approach of an enemy 
sometimes occasions more confusion than when you expecled him, and a 
sudden stoi m at sea throws the sailors into a greater fright than when they 
foresaw it, rind it. is the same in many cases. But when you carefulry consid- 
er the nature of what was expected, you will find nothing more, than that 
nil things which come on a sudden appear greater ; and this upon two ac- 
count's. The first is, that you have not time to consider how great the ac- 
cident is ; the next is, when you are persuaded you could have guarded 
against them had you foreseen them, the misfortune seemingly contracted 
by your own fault makes your grief the greater. That it is so, time ev n- 
ces; which as it advances, brings with it so much ease, that though the 
same misfortunes continue, the grief not only becomes the less, but in some 
cases is entirely removed. Many Carthaginians were slaves at Rome, ma- 
ny Macedonians when Perseus their king was taken prisoner. I saw, too, 
when I was a young man, some Corinthians in the Peloponnesus. T^ey 
might all have lamented with Andromache, 

All these I saw , 

But they had perhaps given over lamenting themselves, for by their coun- 



62 THS TU::CULAX DISPUTATIONS 

tenances, sp33ch, and ocli3r gestures, you might have taken them for Ar- 
rives or Sicyonians. And I myself was more concerned at the ruined 
walls of Corinth, than the Corinthians themselves were, whose minds by 
frequent reflection and ti»s had acquired a callousness. I have read a 
book of Clitomachus, which he sent to his captive citizens, to comfort them 
on the ruin of Carthage ; there is in it a disposition written by Carneades, 
which, as Clitomacbus saith, he had inserted into his commentary ; the 
subject was, 4t Whether a wise man should seem to grieve at the captivi- 
ty of his country?" You have there what Carneades said against it. There 
the philosopher applies such a strong medicine to a fresh grief, as would 
be quite unnecessary in one of any continuance; nor, had this very book 
been sent to the captives someyears after, would it have found anv wounds 
to cure, but scars.; for grief, by ft gentle progress and slow degrees, wears 
away imperceptibly. Not that the nature of things is altered, or can be 
but that custom teaches what reason should, that those things lose their 
weight which before seemecf to be of some consequence. 

XXIII. It may be said, What occasion is there to apply to reason, or 
any consolation that we generally make use of, to ease the grief of the af- 
flicted? For we have this always at hand, that there is nothing but what 
we may expect But how will any one be enabled to bear his misfortunes 
the better by knowing thet they are unavoidable ? Saying thus subtracts 
nothing from the sum of the grief: it infers only that nothing has fallen 
out but what might have be?n thought of; and yet this manner of speaking 
has some little consolation in it, but, I apprehend, not much. Therefore 
those unlooked-for things have not so much force as to give rise to all our 
grief; the blow ptrhapa may fall the heavier, but whatever falls out doth 
not appear the greater on that account ; no, it is because it has lately hap- 
pened, not because it has befallen us unexpected, that makes it seem the 
greater. There are two ways then of discerning the truth, not only of 
things that seem evil, but of those that have the appearance of good. For 
we either inquire into the nature of the thing, what, and how great it is, 
*s sometimes with regard to poverty : the burden of which we may light- 
en when by our disputations we shew how very little, how few things nature re 
quires ; or without any subtle arguing we refer them to examples, as here 
we instance in a Socrates, there in a Diogenes, and then again that line 
in Csecilius, 

Wisdom is oft conceal'd in mean attire. 
Tot as poverty is of equal weight with all. what reason can be given, why 
what was borne by Fabricius should be insupportable by others ? Of a 
piece with this is that other way of comforting, that nothing happens but 
what is common to human nature : now this argument doth not only in- 
form us what human nature is, but implies that all things are tolerable 
which others have borne and can bear. 

XXIV. Is poverty the subject? they tell you of many who have sub- 
mitted to it with patience. Is it the contempt of honors ? they acquaint 
you with some who never enjoyed any, and were the happier for it : and 
©f those who have preferred a private retired life to public employment, 
mentioning their names with respect : they tell you of the verse of that most 



or cicero. 63 

powerful king, who praises an old man, and pronounces hfin happy, wb© 
could reach old age in obscurity and without notice. Thus too they have 
examples for those who are deprived of their children ; they who are un- 
der any great grief are comforted by instances of like affliction : thus ev- 
ery misfortune becomes the less by othershaving undergone the same. Reflee" 
tion thus discovers to us how much opinion had imposed onus. And this 
is what Telamon declares, " I knew my son was mortal;" and thus The- 
seus, "I on my future misery did dwell;" and Anaxagoras, "I knew mr 
son was mortal." All these, by frequently reflecting on human affairs, 
discovered that they were by no means to be estimated by vulgar opin- 
ions : and indeed it seems to me to be pretty much the same with those 
who consider beforehand as with those who have their remedy from time, 
excepting that a kind of reason cures the one, the other is provided with 
this by nature ; discovering thereby, that what was imagined to be the 
greatest evil, is not so great as to defeat the happiness of life. Thus it- 
comes about, that the hurt which was not foreseen is greater, and not, as 
they suppose,, that when the like misfortunes befall two different people, 
he only of them is affected with grief on whom it lights unexpectedly, So 
that sorns, under the oppression of grief, are said to have borne it worse 
on hearing of this common condition of man,, that we are born under such 
conditions as render it impossible for a man to be exempt from all evil. 

XXY. For this reason Carneades, as I see it in our Antiochus, used to 
blame Chrysippus for commending these verses of Euripides : 

Man, doom'd to care, to pain, disease, and strife, 
Walks his short journey thro' the vale of life: 
Watchful attends the cradle and the grave, 
And passing generations longs to save : 
Last dies himself: yet wherefore should we mourn ? 
For man must to his kindred dust return ; 
Submit to the destroying hand of fate, 
As ripen'd ears the harvest-sickle wait. 

He would not allow a speech of this kind to avail at all to the euie of otfr 
grief, for he said it was a lamentable case itself, that we were fallen into 
the hands of such a cruel fate; for to preach up comfort from the misfor- 
tunes of another, is a comfort only to those of a malevolent disposition. 
But to me it appears far otherwise : for the necessity of bearing what is 
the common condition of humanity, makes you submit to the gods,- and 
informs you that you are a man, which reflection greatly alleviates grief: 
and they do not produce these examples to please those of a malevolent 
disposition, but that any one in affliction may be induced to bear what he 
observes many others bear with tranquillity and moderation. For they 
who are falling to pieces, and cannot hold together through the greatness 
of their grief, should be supported by all kinds of assistance. From whence 
Chrysippus thinks that grief is called Xurrjy, as it were Xuffis, i. e. a dis_ 
solution of the whole man. The whole of which I think may be pulled 
up by the roots, by explaining, as I said at the beginning, the cause of 
grief; for it is nothing else but an opinion and estimation of a present 



G4 TUB TUSCULAN DISPUTATION 

aeat'3 evil. Tims any bodily pain, let it be ever so grievous, may be tol- 
erable -where any hopes are proposed of some considerable good ; and we 
receive such consolation from a virtuous and illustrious life, that they who 
lead such lives arc seldom attacked by grief, or but slightly affected by 
it.' 

XXVI. But if to the opinion of evil there be added this other, that we 
ought to lament, that it is right so to do, and part of our duty; then is 
brought about that grievous disorder of mind. To which opinion we owe 
all those various and horrid kinds of lamentations, that neglect of our 
persons, that womanish tearing of our cheeks, that striking OB ourthighs, 
breasts, and heads. Thus Agamemnon, in Homer and in Accius, 

Tears in his grief his uncomb'd locks. 
From -whence comes that pleasant saying of Bion, that the foolish king 
in his sorr nv tore away the hairs of his head, imagining that being bald 
he would be tees sensible of grief. But whoever acts thus is persuaded 
he ought to do so. And thus iEschines accuses Demosthenes of sacrifi- 
cing within seven days after the death of his daughter. But how rhetor- 
ically! how copiously! what - has he collected? what words 
doth he throw out? You in this that an orator may do anything, 
which nobody would have approved of, but from a prevailing opinion, that 
every good man ought to lament heavily the- loss of a relation. Hence 
it eomes, that some, when in Borrow, betake themselves to deser 
Homer saith of Bcllcrophon, 

Wide o'er the JBleau field he chose to stray, 

A Long, P>rlorn, uncomfortable way ! 

Woes heap'd on wo « ooapum'd his wasted heart: 

Pope, II. b. vi. 1.2-17. 

Ami thus Nlobe is feigned to have been turned into stone, from her nev- 
er speaking. I suppose, in her grief. But they imagine Hecuba to have 
been converted into a bitch, from her rage and bitterness of mind. There 

are others who love to converse with solitude itself, when in grief, as the 
nurse in Ennius, 

Fain would I to the heavens and earth relate 

Medea'a and cruel fate. 

XXYII. Now all these things are done in grief, from a persuasion of 
the truth, recitude, and necessity of them : and it is plain, that it pro- 
ceeds from a conviction of its being their duty : for should these mourn- 
ers by chance drop their grief, and seem more calm or cheerful for a mo- 
ment, they presently check themselves and return to their lamentations 
again, and blame themselves for having been guilty of any intermisf 
from their grief. Parents and masters generally correct children n 
words only, but by blows, if they shew any levity when the family is un- 
der affliction : and. as it were, oblige them to be sorro-wful. What? doth 
it not appear, when you cease of course to mourn, and perceive your grief 
has been ineffectual, that the whole was an act of your own choosing? 
What saith he, in Terence, who punishes himself, i. e. the self-tormentor 
" I am persuaded I do less injury to my son by being miserable myself.'' 



or cicero. 65 

He determines to be miserable ; and can any one determine on anything 
against his will? " I should think I deserved any misfortune." He should 
think he deserved any misfortune, were he otherwise than miserable. 
Therefore you see the evil is in opinion, not in nature. How is it, when 
some things prevent of themselves your grieving at them ? as in Homer, 
so many died and were buried daily, that they had no leisure to grieve. 
Where you find these lines : 

The great, the bold, by thousands daily fall, 
And endless were the grief to weep for all. 
Eternal sorrows what avails to shed ? 
Greece honors not with solemn fasts the dead : 
Enough when death demands the brave to pay 
The tribute of a melancholy day. 
One chief with patience to the grave resigned, 
Our care devolves on others left behind. 

Therefore it is in our own power to lay aside grief upon oecasion ; and i» 
there any occasion (seeingthe thing is in our own power) thatwe should let 
slip in order to get ridof care and grief? It was plain, that Cn. Pompey's 
friends, when they saw him fainting under his wounds, though at that very 
time they were under great uneasiness how they themselves, surrounded 
by the enemy, might escape, were employed in nothing but encouraging 
the rowers and aiding their escape ; but when they reached Tyre, they began 
to grieve and lament over him. Therefore, as fear with them prevailed 
over grief, cannot reason and true philosophy have the same effect with a 
wise man? 

XXVIII. But what is there more effectual to dispel grief than the dis- 
covery that it answers no purpose, and turns to no account ? Therefore 
if we can get rid of it, we need never to have been subject to it. It must 
be acknowledged then that men take up grief wilfully and knowingly :. 
and this appears from the [patience of those who, after they have been 
exercised in afflictions and are better able to bear whatever befalls them, 
suppose themselves hardened against fortune, as that person in Euripides ; 

Had this the first essay of fortune been, 

And I no storms thro' all my life had seen, 

"Wild as a colt I'd broke from reason's sway, 

But frequent griefs have taught me to obey. 
As then the frequent bearing of misery makes grief the lighter, we must 
necessarily perceive that the cause and original of it doth not lie in the 
thing itself. Your principal philosophers, or lovers of wisdom, though 
they have not yet arrived at it, are not they sensible that they are under 
the greatest evil? For they are fools, and folly is the greatest of all evils: 
and yet they lament not. How shall we account for this ? Because that 
opinion is not fixed to that kind of evil : it is not our opinion, that it is 
right, meet, and our duty to be uneasy because we are not all wise men,. 
"Whereas this opinion is strongly affixed to that uneasiness where mourn, 
ing is concerned, which is the greatest of all grief. Therefore Aristotle- 
when he blames some ancient philosophers for imagining that by their 
genius they had brought philosophy to the highest perfection, says, they 

10 



G(? THE TUSCUkAN DISPUTATIONS 

must be either extremely foolish, or extremely vain ; but that he himself 
could see that great improvements had been made therein in a few years, 
and that philosophy -would in a little time arrive at perfection. Thec- 
phrastus is reported to have accused nature at his death for giving to stags 
and crows so long a life, which was of no use to them, and for giving so 
few days to men, where it would have been of the greatest use ; whose days, 
had they been lengthened, the life of man would have been provided with all 
kinds of learning, and with arts in the greatest perfection. He lam 
therefore that he should die just as ! a to discover these. "What I 

doth not every grave and distinguished philosopher acknowledge himself 
ignorant of many things ? and that there are many things he must learn 
over and again ? and yet, though these are sensible that they stick in the 
very midway of folly, than which nothing can be worse, are under no 
great affliction, because the opinion that it is their duty to lament never 
interferes. What shall we say of those who think it unbecoming in a man 
to grieve? amongst whom we may reckon Q. Maximus, who buried his 
son that had been consul, and L. Paulus, who lost two sons within a few 
days of one another. Of the same opinion was M. Cato, who I 
just as he was designed for Praitor: and many others, which I have col- 
lected in my book of Consolation. Now what made these so easy; but 
their persuasion that grief and lamentation was not becoming in a man ? 
Therefore, as some give themselves up to grief from an opinion that it is 
right so to do, they refrained themselves from an opinion that it wa» 
wrong : from whence we may infer, that grief is owing more to opinion 
than nature. 

XXIX. It may be said, on the other side, Who is so mad as to gi 
voluntarily? Pain proceeds from nature ; which you mu- 
greeably to what even your own Grantor t and gains 

upon you unavoidably. So that the very same Oileus. in ; . who 

had before comforted Telamon on the death of Ajax, on hearing of the death 
of his own son is broken-hearted. On this alteration of his mind we 
have these lines : 

Shew me the man so well by wisdom taught 

That what he charges to another's fault, 

When like affliction doth himself betide, 

True to his own wise counsel will abide. 
Now when they urge these, their endeavour is to evince, that nature is 
irresistible ; and yet the same people allow, that we take greater grief on 
ourselves than nature requires. What madness is it then in us to require 
the same from others ? But there are many reasons for takinggrief on us. 
The first is from the opinion of some evil, on the discovery and persua- 
sion of which, grief conies of course. Besides, man\ people are persua- 
ded they do something very acceptable to the dead when they lament 
over them. To these may be added a kind of womanish superstition, in 
inagining that to acknowledge themselves afflicted and humbled by the 
gods, is the readiest way of appeasing them. But few see what contradic- 
tions these things are charged with. They commend those who die calm- 



OF CICERO. 67 

!y, but they blame those who can bear the loss of another with the same 
calmness ; as if it were possible that it should be true, as lovers say, that 
any one can love another mere than himself. There is indeed something 
excellent in this, and, if you examine it, no less just than true, that we 
should love those who ought to be dear to us, as well as we love ourselves ; 
but to love them more than ourselves is impossible, nor is it desirable in 
friendship that I should love my friend more than myself, or he me : this 
would occasion much confusion in life, and break in upon all the duties of it. 

XXX. But of this elsewhere : at present it is sufficient not to lay our 
misery to the loss of our friends, nor to love them, more than, were they 
sensible, they would approve of, or at least more than we do ourselves. 
Now as to what they say, that some are not all eased by our consolations ; 
and moreover add, that the comforters themselves acknowledge they are 
miserabla when fortune varies the attack and falls on them,— in both these 
cases the solution is easy : for the fault here is not in nature, but our own 
folly, and much may be said against folly. But not to admit of consolation 
seems to bespeak their own misery and they who cannot bear their misfor- 
tunes with that temper they recommend toothers, they are but on a footing 
with the covetous, who find fault with those that are so ; as do the vain-glo- 
riaus with those of the same turn with themselves. For it is the peculiar 
characteristic of folly to discover the vices of others, forgetting its own. 
But since we find that grief is removed by length of time, we have the 
greatest proof that the strength of it depends not merely on time, but the daily 
consideration of it. For if the cause contiuues the same, and the man 
be the same, how can there be any alteration in the grief, if there 
is no change in what occasioned the grief, nor in him who grieves ? There- 
fore it is from daily reflecting that it is no evil for which you grieve, and 
not from the length of time, that you have the cure of grief. 

XXXI. Here some talk of moderate grief, which, supposing it natural, 
what occasion is there for consolation ? for nature herself wil! determine 
the measure of it; but if it is in opinion, the whole opinion, may 
be destroyed. 1 think it has been sufficiently said, that grief ari- 
ses from an opinion of some present evil which includes this, that it is in- 
cumbent on us to grieve. To this definition Zeno has added very justly, 
that the opinion of this present evil should be recent. Now this word 
recent is explained thus ; not that alone is recent which happened a little 
while ago, but, as long as there shall be any force or vigour or freshness 
in that imagined evil, so long it is entitled to the name of recent. As Arte- 
misia, the wife of Mausolus king of Caria, who made that noble sepulchre 
at Halicarnassus ; whilst she lived she lived in grief, and died of that, 
being worn out by it, so that that opinion was always recent with her : 
but you cannot call that so, which in time decays. Now the duty of a 
comforter is, to remove grief entirely, to quiet it, or draw it off as much 
as you can, to keep it under, and prevent its spreading, or to divert it. 
There are some who think with Cleanthes, that the only duty of a com- 
forter is to prove, that it is by no means any evil. Others, as the Peripa- 



68 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 

tetics, that the evil is no great. Others, with Epicurus, lead you off from 
evil to good : some think it sufficient to shew that nothing has happened, 
but what you had reason to expect. But Chrysippus thinks the main thing 
in comforting is, to remove the opinion from the person who is grieving 
that to grieve is his bounden duty. There are others who bring together 
all these various kinds of consolations, for people are differently affected ; 
as I have done myself in my book of Consolation : for my own mind be- 
ing much disordered, I have given in that every method of cure. But the 
proper season is as much to be watched in the cure of the mind, as of the 
body ; as Prometheus in iEschylus, on its being said to him, 

I think, Prometheus, you this tenet hold, 

That all men's reason should their rage control ; 
answers, 

Yes, when one reason properly applies ; 

Ill-timed advice will make the storm but rise, 

XXXII. But the principal medicine to be aplied in consolation, is to 
maintain either that it is no evil at all, or a very inconsiderable one : next 
to that is, to speak to the common condition of life, and with a view, if 
possible, to the state of the person whom you comfort particularly. The 
third is, that it is folly to wear oneself out with grief which an avail nothing. 
For the advice of Clcanthcs is for a wise man who wants none ; for could 
you persuade one in grief, that nothing is an evil but what is base, you 
would not only cure him of grief, but folly. But the time for such doc- 
trine is not well chosen. Besides, Cleanthes doth not seem to me suffi- 
ciently apprised, that affliction may very often proceed from that very 
thing which he himself allows to be the greatest misfortune. As wftt the 
case with Alcibiades, whom Socrates convinced, as we are told, thatthere 
was no difference betwixt him, though a man of the first fashion, and a 
porter. Alcibiades, being uneasy at this, entreated Socrates with tears 
in his eyes, to make him a man of virtue, and dismiss that baseness. 
What shall we say to this, Cleanthes ? "Was there no evil in what afflicted 
Alcibiades thus ? "What strange things doth Lycon say ? who, to assuage 
grief, makes it arise from trifles, for things that affect our fortune or bo- 
dies, not from the evils of the mind. What, then, did not the grief of Alci- 
biades proceed from the vices and evils of the mind ! I have already said 
enough of Epicurus r s consolation. 

XXXIII. Nor is that consolation much to be relied on, though fre- 
quently practised, and sometimes having effect, viz. That you are not 
alone in this. It has its ei said, but nut always, nor with every 
person ; for some reject it, but much depends on the application of it : for 
you are to set forth, not how men in general have been affected with evils,' but 
how men of sense have borne them. As to Chrysippus's method, it is 
certainly founded in truth ; but it is difficult to apply it in time of dis- 
tress. It is a work of no small difficulty to persuade a person in affliction 
that he grieves, merely because he thinks it right so to do. Certainly 
then, as in pleadings we do not state all cases alike, but adjust them to the 
time, to the nature of the subject under debate, and the person ; thus in 



OF CICERO. 69 

assuaging grief, regard should be had to what kind of cure the party Avill 
admit of. But, I know not how, we have rambled from what you propo- 
sed. For your question was concerning a wise man, with whom nothing 
can have the appearance of evil, that is not dishonorable : or at least 
would seem so small an evil, that by his wisdom he so overmatches it, 
that it quite'disappears ; who makes no addition to his grief through opin- 
ion ; who never conceives it right to torment himself above measure, and 
wear himself out with grief, which is the meanest thing imaginable. Rea- 
son, however, it seems, has evinced, though it was not directly our sub- 
ject at present, that nothing can be called an evil but what is base ; and, 
by the way, we may discover, that all the evil of affliction, has nothing 
natural in it, but is contracted by our own voluntary judgment of it, and 
the error of opinion. Therefore I have treated of that kind of affliction, 
which is the greatest; the removing of which has made it of little conse« 
quence to look after remedies for others. 

XXXIV. There are certain things usually said on poverty ; others on 
a retired and undistinguished life. There are particular treatises on ban- 
ishment, on the ruin of one's country, or slavery, or weakness or blind- 
ness, and on every incident that can come under the name of an evil. The 
Greeks divide these into different treatises and distinct books: but they 
do it for the sake of employment : not but that disputations are full of en- 
tertainment ; and yet, as, physicians, in curing the whole body, help the 
least part that is affected, so philosophy, after it has removed grief in gen- 
eral, if any other deficiency exist; should ignominy sting, should banish- 
ment bring a dark cloud over us, or should any of those things I just 
mentioned appear, it applies to each its particular consolation: which you 
shall hear whenever you please. But we must have recourse to the same 
fountain, that a wise man is free from all evil, because it is insignificant 
because it answers no purpose, because it is not founded in nature, but opin- 
ion and prejudice, but a kind of courting grief, when once they have ima- 
gined that it is their duty to do so. Subtracting then what is altogether 
voluntary, that mournful uneasiness will be removed ; yet some little anx- 
iety, some small remorse will remain. They may indeed call this natu- 
ral, provided they give it not that horrid, solemn, melancholy name of 
grief, which can by no means consist with wisdom. But how various, 
and how bitter, are the roots of grief! Whatever they are, I propose, after 
having felled the trunk, to destroy them all ; and if you approve of it, by 
particular dissertations, for I have leisure enough, whatever time it may 
take up. But it is the same with all uneasiness, though it appears under 
different names. For envy is an uneasiness ; so are emulation, detraction, 
anguish, sorrow, sadness, tribulation, lamentation, vexation, grief, trou- 
ble, affliction, and despair. The Stoics define all these, and all those 
words I mentioned belong to different things, and do not, as they seem, expres 
the same things ; but they are distinct, as I shall make appear perhaps in an- 
other place. These are those fibres of the roots, which, as I said at first, must 
be cut off, and destroyed, that not one should remain. You say it is a 
great and difficult undertaking ; who denies it ? But what is there of any 



73 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 

excellency which has not its difficulty? Yet philosophy undertakes to ef- 
fect it, provided -rv e accept cf the cure. But so much for this : the others, 
•whenever you please, shall he read}- for ytm. here, or any where else, 

LOOK IV. 

OX OTIIER PERTURBATIONS OF THE MIND. 

I .have been apt to wander, Brutus, on many occasions, at the ingenuity 
and virtues of our countrymen ; but nothing has surprised me more than 
those studies,* which, though they came somewhat late to us, have been 
transported into this city from Greece! For the auspices, religious cere- 
monies, courts of justice, appeals r<> the people, the senate, the establish- 
ment of horse and foot, and the whole military discipline, were instituted 
as early as the foundation of the city by royal authority, partly too by 
laws, not without the assistance of the gods. Then with what a sur- 
prising and iucrediW - did they advance towards all kind of ex- 
cellence, wh ili" Jo-public wi torn the regal power? Not 
that J propose to treat here of the manners an . 

the discipline and constitution of the city.; for I ha trticu- 

larly in the six books I wrote on the Republic, given a very accurate 
account of them. But whilst I am on this tiering 

the study of philosophy, 1 m >et with man; * that those 

-studies were brought to us from abroad, and not merely imported, but 
preserved and improved ; for they had P\ a man of consummate 

•wisdom, in a maun .. b< ? was in Italy at the time L. 

Brutus, the illustrious founder of your nobility, delivered his country 
from tyranny. As the doctrine of I 1 - spread itself on all 

it seems probable to me, that it reached this city : and this is not only 
probable, but appears to hare been the case from many remains of it. 
For who can imagine, that, when it flourished so much in that part of 
Italy which was catted Greece, in sume of the largest and most powerful 
cities, in which, first, the name of Pythagoras, and then theirs, who were 
afterwards his followers, was in so high esteem: who can imagine. I say, 
that our people could shut their ears to what was said by such learned 
men? Besides, my opinion is. that the great esteem the Pythagoreans 
were held in, gave rise to that opinion amongst our ancestors, that king 
Numa was a Pythagorean. For. being acquainted with the discipline 
and institutes of Pythagoras, am) having heard from their ancestors, that 
the king was a very wise and just man, and not being able to distinguish 
times that were so remote, they inferred, from his being so eminent for 
his wisdom, that he was a hearer of Pythagoras. 

II. So far we proceed on conjecture. As to the vestiges of the Pytha- 
goreans, though I might collect many, I shall use but a few; because 
that is not our present purpose. Now. as it is reported to have been a 
custom with them to deliver certain abstruse precepts in verse, and to 



OF CICERO. 71 

bring their minds from severe thought to a more composed state by songs 
and musical instruments ; so Cato, a very serious author, saith in his 
Origins, that it was customary with our ancestors for the guests at then* 
entertainments, every one in his turn to sing the praises and virtues of 
illustrious men to the sound of the flute; from whence it is clear that 
poems and songs were then composed for the voice. Still, that poetry 
was in fashion appears from the laws of the twelve tables, wherein it is 
provided, that none should be made to the injury of another. Another 
argument of the erudition * of those times is, that they played on instru - 
ments before the feasts held in honour of their gods, and the entertain- 
ments of their magistrates : now that was peculiar to the sect I am 
speaking of. To me, indeed, that poem of Appius Crecus, which Panas- 
tius cofhmends so much in a certain letter to Q. Tubero, has all the marks 
of a Pythagorean. We have many things derived from them in our 
customs : which I pass over, that we may not seem to have learned that 
elsewhere which we look on ourselves as the inventors of. But to return 
to our purpose. How many great poets as as well as orators have sprung 
up among us ! and in what a short time ! so that it is evident, that our 
people could attain any thing as soon as they had an inclination for it., 
"Out of other studies I shall speak elsewhere if there is occasion, as I have 
already often done. 

III. The study of philosophy is certainly of long standing with us ; 
but yet I do not find that I can give you the names of any before the age 
of Laulius and Scipio: in whose younger days we find that Diogenes the 
Stoic, and Carneades the Academic, were sent ambassadors by the Athe- 
nians to our senate. As these had never been concerned in public affairs, 
and one of them was a Cyrenean, the other a Babylonian, they had cer- 
tainly never been forced from their studies, nor chosen for that employ, 
unless the study of philosophy had been in vogue with some of the great 
men at that time: who, though they might employ their pens on other 
subjects; some on civil law, others on oratory,- others on the history of 
former times, yet promoted this most extensive of all arts, the discipline 
of living well, more by their life than by their writings. So that of that 
true and elegant philosophy, (which was derived from Socrates, and is 
still preserved by the Peripatetics, and by the Stoics, though they express 
themselves differently in their disputes with the Academics,) there are 
few or no Latin monuments ; whether this proceeds from the importance 
of the thing itself, or from men's being otherwise employed, or from their 
concluding that the capacity of the people was not ecmal to the apprehen- 
sion of them. But, during this silence, C. Amafinius arose and took upon 
himself to speak ; on the publishing of whose writings the people were 
moved, and enlisted themselves chiefly under this sect, either because the 
doctrine was more easily understood, or that they were invited thereto by 
the pleasing thoughts of amusement, or that, because there was nothing 
better, they laid hold of what was offered them. And after Amafinius, 
when many of the same sentiments had written much about them, the 
Phthagoreans spread over all Italy ; l&ut that these doctrines should be so 



72 THK TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 

easily understood and improved of by the unlearned, is a great proof 
that they were not written with any great subtlety, and they think their 
establishment to be owing to this. 

IV. But let every one defend his own opinion, they are at liberty to 
choose what they like: I shall keep to my old custom; and being under 
no restraint from the laws of any particular school, which in philosophy 
every one must necessarily confine himself to, I shall always inquire after 
what has the most probability in every question, which, as I have often 
practiced on other occasions, I have kept close' to in my Tusculan Dispu- 
tations. Therefore, as I have acquainted you with the disputations of 
the three former days, this book concludes the fourth. When we had 
come down into the academy, as we had done the former days, the busi- 
ness was carried on thus. J/. Let any one say, who pleases, what he would 
have disputed. A. I do not think a wise man can possibly be free from 
every perturbation of mind. M. He seemed by yesterday's discourse to 
be so from grief: unless yon allowed it only not to take up time. A. 
Not at all on that account, for 1 was extremely satisfied with your dis- 
course. M. You do not think then that a wise man is subject to grief? 
A. No, by no means. Jj£. But if that cannot disorder the mind of a 
wise man nothing else can. For what'/ can it be disturbed by fear? 
Fear proceeds from the same things when absent, which occasion grief 
when present. Take away grief then, and yon remoVe fear. 

\ . The two remaining perturbations are, a joy elate above measure, and 
lust: which if a wise man is noJ subject, to his mind will be always at rest. 
A. lam entirely of that opinion. M. Had you rather, then, that I should 
immediately crowd all my - shall I Dial ITS, as if I 

werejnst endeavoring to get clear of the harbor? J. I do not apprehend 
what you moan by that. M. Why, Chrysippus and the Stoics, when they 
dispute on the perturbations of the mind, make great part of their d 
to consist in dividing and distinguishing: they employ but Few WOtf 
the subject of curing the mind, and preventing it from Vicing disordered. 
Whereas the Peripatetics bring a great many things to promote the cure 
of it, but have no regard to their thorny partitions and definitions. My 
question then was. whether I should instantly unfold the sails of my dis- 
course, or make my May out with the oars of the logicians? A. Let it 
be so; for by means of both these, the subject of our inquiry will be 
more thoroughly discussed. M. It is certainly the better way: and should 
any thing be too obscure, you may inform yourself afterwards. A. I will 
<lo so; but those very obscure things, you will, as usual, deliver with 
more clearness than the Greeks. A. I will indeed endeavour to d 
but. it requires great attention, for should you lose one word, the whole 
will escape you. What the Greeks call cac% we ch ne pertur. 

bations (or disorders) rather than diseases, in explaining which, I shall 
follow, first, that very old description of Pythagoras, then Plato's : who 
divide the mind into two parts ; they make one of these to partake of 
reason, the other to be without it. In that whicfi partakes of reason they 
place tranquillity, i. e. a placid and undisturbed constancy : to the 



OF CICERO, ?8r 

other they assign the turbid motions of anger and desire, which are con-*' 
trary and opposite to reason. Let this then be our principle, the spring 
of all our reasonings. But notwithstanding, I shall use the partitions 
and definitions of the Stoics in describing these perturbations : who seem 
to me to have been very subtle on this question. 

VI. Zeno's definition, then, is thus : that a perturbation, which he calls 
a iraQos, is a commotion of the mind repugnant to reason, and against na- 
ture. Some of them define it shorter ; that a perturbation is a more ve- 
hement appetite ; but by more vehement they mean an appetite that re- 
cedes further from the constancy of nature. But they would have the 
distinct parts of perturbations to arise from two imagined goods, and from 
two imagined evils : and thus they become four : from the good proceed lust 
and joy : as joy from some present good, lust from future. They suppose fear 
and grief to proceed from evils : fear from something future, grief from some- 
thing present : for whatever things are dreaded as approaching, always occa- 
sion grief when present. But joy and lust depend on the opinion of good ! 
as lust is inflamed and provoked, and carried eagerly to what has the appear- 
ance of good; joy is transported and exults on obtaining what was desired. 
For we naturally pursue those things that have the appearance of good ; 
and fly the contrary. Wherefore, as soon as any thing that has the ap- 
pearance of good presents itself, nature incites us to the obtaining it. Now 
where this is consistent and founded on prudence, this strong desire is 
by the Stoics called /SouX^tfi?. but we name it a volition; and this they al- 
low to none but their wise man, and define it thus. Volition is a 
reasonable desire, but whatever is incited too violently in opposition 
to reason, that is a lust, or an unbridled desire ; which is discovera- 
ble in all fools. And with respect to good, we are likewise moved two 
ways ; there is a placid and calm motion, consistent with reason, called 
joy : and there is likewise a vain, wanton exultation, or immoderate joy, 
loetitia gestiens, or transport, which they define to be an elation of the mind 
without reason. And as we naturally desire good things, so in like man-- 
ner we naturally avoid evil ; the avoiding of which, if warranted by rea- 
son, is called caution; and this the wise man alone is supposed to have: 
but that caution which is not under the guidance of reason, but is attend- 
ed with a base and low dejection, is called fear. Fear is therefore an un- 
reasonable caution. A wise man is not affected by any present evil : but 
the grief of a fool proceeds from being affected with an imaginary evil, on 
which their minds are contracted and sunk, as they revolt from reason. 
This, then, is the first definition, which makes grief to consist in the mind's 
shrinking contrary to the dictates of reason. Thus there are four pertur- 
bations, and but three opposites, for grief has no opposite. 

VII. But they would have all perturbations depend on opinion and 
judgment ; therefore they define them more closely ; not only the better 
to shew how blameable they are, but to discover how much they are in 
our power. Grief then is a recent opinion of some evil, in which it seems 
to be right, that the mind should shrink and be dejected. Joy, a recent 
opinion of a present good, in which it seems to be right that the mind 

11 



74 .THE TUSCTTLAN DISPUTATIONS 

should be transported. Fear, an opinion of an impending evil, which we 
apprehend as intolerable. Lust, an opinion of a good to come, which would 
"be of advantage were it already come, and present with us. But howev- 
er I named the judgments and opinions of perturbations, their meaning 
is not that merely the perturbations consist in them ; but the effect like- 
wise of these perturbations : as grief occasions a kind of painful remorse ; 
fear,, a recoil or sudden escape of the mind ; joy, a profuse mirth ; lust, an 
unbridled habit of coveting. But that imagination, which I have includ- 
ed if* all the above definitions, they would have to consist in assenting 
without warrantable grounds, Kow every perturbation has many parts 
annexed to it of the same kind. Grief is attended with enviousness (I 
use that word for instruction sake, though it is not go common ; because 
envy takes in not only the person who envies, but the person too who is 
envied). Emulation, detraction, pity, vexation, mourning, sadness, trib- 
ulation, sorrow, lamentation, solicitude, disquiet of mind, pain, despair, 
and whatever else, is of this kind. Fear includes sloth, shame, terror, 
cowardice, fainting, confusion, astonishment. In pleasure they compre- 
hend a malevolence that is pleased at another's misfortune, a delight, 
boasting, and the like. To lost they associate anger, fury, hatred, enmi- 
ty, discord, wants, desire, and the rest of that kind. 

Till. But they define these in this manner. Envying, they say, is a 
grief arising from the prosperous circumstances of another, which are no 
ways detrimental to the person who envies : fur where any one grieves at 
the prosperity of another, by which he is injured, such an one is not pro- 
perly said to envy ; as when Agamemnon grieves at Hector's success : but 
where any one, who is no ways hurt by the prosperity of another, i> in 
pain at his success, such an one envies indeed. Now that emulation is ta- 
ken in a double sense, so that the same word may stand for praise and 
dispraise : for the imitation of virtue is called emulation : but that 
sense of it I shall b/ive no occasion for here ; for that carries praise 
with it. Emulation is- also grief at another's enjoying what I de- 
sired to have, and am without. Detraction (and I mean by that, jeal- 
ousy) is a grief even at another's enjoying what I had a great inclination 
for. Pity is a grief at the misery of another, who suffers wrongfully : no 
one grieves at the punishment of a parricide, or of a betrayer of his coun- 
try. Vexation is a pressing grief. Mourning is a grief at the bitter 
death of one who was dear to you. Sadness is a grief attended with 
tears. Tribulation is a painful grief. Sorrow, an excruciating grief. 
Lamentation, a grief where we loudly bewail ourselves. Solicitude, 
a pensive grief. Trouble, a continued grief. Affliction, a grief that 
harasses the body. Despair, a grief that excludes all hope of better 
things to come. What is included under fear, they define to be sloth, 
which is a dread of some ensuing labor : shame and terror, that 
affects the body ; hence blushing attends shame : a paleness and tre- 
mor, and chattering of the teeth, terror: cowardice, an apprehen- 
sion of some approaching evil ; dread, a fear that unhinges the mind, 
whence comes that of Ennius, 

Then dread discharg'd all wisdom from my mind : 



OF CICERO. 75 

fainting is the associate and constant attendant on dread ; confusion, a 
fear that drives away all thought ; astonishment, a continued fear. 

IX. The parts they assign to pleasure come under this description, that 
malevolence is a pleasure in the misfortunes of another without any ad- 
vantage to yourself: delight, a pleasure that soothes the mind by agreea- 
ble impressions on the ear. What is said of the ear, may he applied to the 
sight, to the touch, smell and taste. All of this kind are a sort of melting 
pleasures that dissolve the mind. Boasting is a pleasure that consists in 
making an appearance, and setting off yourself with insolence. What 
comes under lust they define in this manner. Anger is a lust of pun* 
ishing any one we imagine has injured us without cause. Heat is anger 
just forming and beginning to exist, which the Greeks call ^coffis. Ha- 
tred is a settled anger. Enmity is anger waiting for an opportunity of 
revenge. Discord is a sharper anger conceived deep in the mind and 
heart. Want, an insatiable lust. Desire, is when one eagerly wishes to 
see a person who is absent. Now here they have a distinction : desire is 
a lust conceived on hearing of certain things reported of some one, or of 
many, which the Greeks call predicated; as that they are in possession 
of riches and honors : but want is a lust for those very honors and riches. 
But they make intemperance the fountain of all these perturbations: which 
is an absolute revolt from the mind and right reason : a state so averse 
to all prescriptions of reason, that the appetites of the mind are by no 
means to be governed and restrained. As therefore temperance appeas- 
es these desires, making them obey right reason, and maintains the well 
weighed judgments of the mind ; so intemperance, which is in opposition 
to this, inflames, confounds, and puts every state of the mind into a vio- 
lent motion. Thus grief and fear, and every other perturbation of the 
mind, have theii rise from intemperance, 

X. Just as distempers and sickness are bred in the body from the cor- 
ruption of the blood, and the too great abundance of phlegm and bile ; so 
the mind is deprived of its health, and disordered with sickness, from a 
confusion of depraved opinions, that are in opposition to one another. 
From these perturbations arise, first, diseases, which they call vofl^fxaTa ; in 
opposition to these are certain faulty distastes or loathings ; then sickness- 
es, which are called appw<JV*gfjia<ra by the Stoics ; and these two have their 
opposite aversions. Here the Stoics, especially Chrysippus, give them 
selves unnecessary trouble to shew the analogy the diseases of the mind 
have with'those of the body: but, overlooking all that they say as of little 
consequence, I shall treat only of the thing itself. Let us then understand 
perturbation to imply a restlessness from the variety and confusion of 
contradictory opinions ; and that when this heat and disturbance of the 
mind is of any standing, and has taken up its residence, as it were, in the 
veins and marrow, then commence diseases and sickness, and those aver- 
sions which are in opposition to them, 

XI. What I say here may be distinguished in thought, though they are 
in fact the same ; and have their rise from lust and joy. For should mo- 
ney be the object of our desire, and should we not instantly apply to 



T6 THB TUSCULAX DISPVTATIONS 

reason, Socrates' medicine to heal this desire, the evil slides into our veins, 
and cleaves to our bowels, and from thence proceeds a distemper or sick- 
ness, which, when of any continuance, is incurable. The name of this 
disease is covetousness. It is the same with other diseases ; as the de- 
sire of glory, a passion for women, if I may so call ipiXovvvSia ; and thus 
all other diseases and sicknesses are generated. Xow, the contrary of 
these are supposed to have fear for their foundation, as a hatred of women, 
such as is the "Woman-hater of Atilius : or the hating the whole human 
species, as Timon is reported to have done, whom they called the Misan- 
thrope. Of the same kind is inhospitality. All which diseases proceed 
from a certain dread of such things as they hate and avoid. But they 
define sickness of mind to be an overweening opinion, and that fixed and 
settled, of something as very desirable, which is by no means so. "What 
proceeds from aversion, they define thus : a vehement conceit of something 
to be avoided, when there is no reason for avoiding it ; and thus a fixed 
and settled conceit. Xow this conceit is a persuasion that you know 
what you are ignorant of. But this sickness is attended with something 
like these ; covetousness, ambition, a passion for women, wilfulness, glut- 
tony, drunkenness, luxury, conceit and the like. For covetousness is a 
vehement imagination of money, which strongly pi a that it is 

a very desirable thing: and in like manner they define other things of 
the same kind. The definitions of aversions are after this sort ; inhospi- 
tality is a vehement opinion, with which you are strongly possessed, that 
you should avoid a stranger. Thus too the hatred of women, like Hip- 
politus's, is defined, and the hatred of the human species, like Timon's. 
XII. But to come to the analogy of the state of body and mind, which 
I shall sometimes make use of, though more sparingly than the Stoics : 
as some are more inclined to particular disorders than others- Thus we 
say, that some are rheumatic, others dropsical, not because they are so at 
present, but because they are often so : some are more inclined to fear, 
others to some other perturbation. Thus in some there is an anxiety, 
whence the}* are anxious : in some hastiness of temper, which differs from 
anger, as anxiety differs from anguish : for all are not anxious who are 
sometimes vexed ; nor ar» thoy avIio are anxious always uneasy in that 
same manner : as there is a difference betwixt being drunk, and drunkenness; 
and it is one thing to be a lover, another to be given to women. And 
this disposition of some to particular disorders, is very extensive : for it 
relates to all perturbations ; it appears in many vices, though it has no 
name : some are therefore said to be envious, malevolent, spiteful, fearful, 
pitiful, from a propensity to those perturbations, not from their being 
always carried away by them. Xow this propensity to these particular 
disorders may be called a sickness, from analogy with the body ; that 
is, nothing more than a propensity towards sickness. But with regard 
to whatever is good, as some are more inclined to different goods than 
others, we may call this a facility or tendency : this tendency to evil is a 
proclivity or inclination to falling : but where any thing is neither good, 
JDor bad, it may have the former name. 



OF CICERO. » 7 

XIII. Even as there may be, with respect to the body, a disease, a 
sickness, and a defect ; so it is with the mind. They call that a disease 
"where the whole body is corrupted: sickness, where a disease is attended 
with a weakness : a defect, where the parts of the body are not well 
compacted together ; from whence it follows, that the members are mis- 
shaped, crooked, and deformed. So that these two, a disease and sickness, 
proceed from a violent concussion and perturbation of the health of the 
whole body ; but a defect discovers itself, even when the body is in per 
feet health. But a disease of the mind is distinguishable only in thought 
from a sickness. A viciousness is a habit or affection discordant and 
inconsistent throughout life. Thus it happens, that a disease and sickness 
may arise from one kind of corruption of opinions ; from another incon- 
stancy and inconsistency. For every vice of the mind doth not imply a 
disunion of parts ; as is the case with those who are not far from wise 
men : with them there is that affection which is inconsistent with itself 
whilst it is witless, but it is not distorted nor depraved. But diseases 
-and sicknesses are parts of viciousness : but it is a question whether per- 
turbations are parts of the same : for vices are permanent affections ; 
perturbations are affections that are restless ; so that they cannot be parts 
of permanent affection. As there is some analogy between the nature of 
the body and mind in evil, so in good : for the distinctions of the body 
are beauty, strength, health, firmness, quickness of motion ; the same 
may be said of the mind. The body is said to be in a good state, when 
all those things on which health depends are consistent : the same may 
be said of the mind, when its judgments and opinions are not at variance. 
And this union is the rirtue of the mind: which, according to some, is 
temperance itself; others make it consist in an obedience to the precepts 
of temperance, and a complying with them, not allowing it to be any dis- 
tinct species of itself: but be it one or the other, it is to be found only in 
a wise man. But there is a certain soundness of mind, which a fool may 
have, when the perturbation of his mind is removed by the care and man- 
agement of his physicians. And as what is called beauty arises from an 
exact proportion of the limbs, together with a sweetness of complexion, so 
the beauty of the mind consists in an equality and constancy of opinions 
and judgments, joined to a certain firmness and stability, pursuing virtue, 
or containing within itself the very essence of virtue. Besides, we give 
the rery same names to the faculties of the mind, as we do to the powers 
of the body, the nerves, and other powers of action. Thus the velocity of 
the body is called swiftness : a praise we entitle the mind to, from its run- 
ning over in its thoughts so many things in so short a time. 

XIV. Herein indeed the mind and body are unlike : that though the 
mind when in perfect health may be visited by sickness, as the body, yet 
the body may be disordered without our fault, the mind cannot. For all 
the disorders and perturbations of the mind proceed from a neglect of 
reason ; these disorders therefore are confined to men ; the beasts are not 
subject to perturbations, though they act sometimes as if they had rea- 
son. There is a difference, too, betwixt ingenious and dull men ; the in- 



78 THE TU2CULAN DISPUTATIONS 

genious, like the Corinthian brass, which is long before it receives rust, 
are longer before they fall into these perturbations, and are recovered 
sooner ; the case is different with the dull. Xor doth the mind of an in- 
genious man fall into every kind of perturbation, never into any that are 
brutish and savage : some of their perturbations have the appearance of 
humanity, as mercy, grief, and fear. The sicknesses and diseases of the 
mind are thought to be harder to pluck up, than those leading vices which 
are in opposition to virtues : for vices may be removed, though the dis- 
eases of the mind should continue, which diseases are not cured with 
that expedition vices are removed. I have now acquainted you with what 
tho Stoics dispute with such exactness; which they call logic, from their 
close arguing : and since my discourse has got clear of these rocks, I will 
proceed with the remainder of it, provided I have been sufficiently clear 
in what I have already said, considering the obscurity of the subject I 
have treated. A. Clear enough ; but should there be occasion for a more 
exact inquiry, I shall take another opportunity : I expect you to hoist 
jour sail, as you just now called it, and proceed on your course. 

XV. M. Since I have before said of virtue in other places, and shall 
often have occasion to say (for a great many questions that relate to life 
and manners arise from the spring of virtue) ; sinco. I say, virtue consists 
in a settled and uniform affection of mind, bringing praise to those who 
are possessed of her; she herself, independent of any thing else, with- 
out regard to any advantage, must be praiseworthy ; for from her proceed 
good inclinations, opinions, actions, and the whole of right reason; though 
virtue may be defined in few words to he right reason itself. The 
opposite to this is viciousness, (for 80 I choose to define what the 
Greeks call xaxi'av, rather than perverseness ; for perverseness is the name 
of a particular vice ; but viciousness includes all,) from whence arise 
those perturbations, which, as I just now said, are turbid and violent 
motions of the mind, repugnant to reason, and enemies in a high degree 
to the peace of the mind, and a tranquil life: for they introduce piercing 
cares, afflicting and debilitating the mind through fear ; they violently in- 
flame our appetites ; occasioning that impotence of mind, utterly different 
from temperance and moderation, which I sometimes call desire, some- 
times lust, which, should it attain its desire, becomes so elate, that it 

all its resolution, and knows not what to pursue ; so that he was in the 
right who said, "that too great a joy was founded on a great mistake.'' 
Virtue then alone can effect the cure of these evils. 

XVI. For what is not only more miserable, but more base and sordid 
that a man afflicted, weakened, and oppressed with grief? Little short of 
this misery is one who dreads some approaching evil, and who, through 
faintheartedness, is under continual suspense. The poets, to express the 
greatness of this evil, imagine a stone to hang over the head of Tantalus, 
for his wickedness, his pride, and his boasting. Folly is punished gen- 
erally in the same way : for there hangs over the head of every who re- 
Tolts from reason something of .this kind, either grief or fear. And as 
these perturbations of the mind, grief and fear, arc of a poisonous nature : 



OF CICERO. 79 

so those two others, though of a more merry cast, (I mean lust, which is 
always coveting, an empty mirth, which is an exulting joy,) differ very 
little from madness. Hence you may understand what I mean by calling a 
man sometimes moderate, then modest or temperate, at another time constant 
and virtuous ; sometimes I would include all these names in the word frugal- 
ity, as the crown of all. For if that word did not include all virtues, it 
would never have been proverbial to say, that a frugal man doth every 
thing right ; which, when the Stoics apply to their wise man, they seem 
to exalt him too much, and to speak of him with too much admiration. 

XVII. Whoever then, through moderation and constancy, is at rest in 
his mind, aod in calm possession of himself, so as neither to pine with 
care, nor be dejected with fear, neither to be inflamed with desire, nor dissolv- 
ed by extravagant joy, such a one is the very wise man we inquire after, the 
happy man : to whom nothing in this life seems so intolerable as to de- 
press him ; nothing so exquisite as to transport him. For what is there 
in this life that can appear great to him, who has acquainted himself with 
eternity, and the utmost extent of the universe/ For what is there in hu- 
man knowledge, or the short span of this life, that can appear great to a 
wise man? whose mind is always so upon its guard, that nothing can be- 
fall him unforeseen, nothing unexpected, nothing new. Such a one takes 
so exact a survey on all sides of him, that he always knows how to dis- 
pose of himself, without anxiety, or any care about this world, and entertains 
every accident that befalls him with a becoming calmness. "Whoever con- 
ducts himself in this manner, will be void of grief, and every other per- 
turbation: and a mind free from these renders men completely happy: 
whereas a mind disordered and drawn off from right and unerring rea- 
son, loses at once, not only its resolution, but its health. Therefore the 
thoughts and declarations of the Peripatetics are soft and effeminate, for 
they say that the mind must necessarily be agitated, but confine it with- 
in a certain degree. And do you set bounds to vice? What ! is not every dis- 
obedience to reason a vice ? doth not reason sufficiently declare, that there 
is no real good which you should too ardently desire, or the possession of 
which should transport you; or any evil that should dispirit you, or that 
the suspicion of it should distract you ? and that ail these things assume 
too melancholy, or too cheerful an appearance through our own error £ 
But if fools find this error lessened by time, so that, though the cause re- 
mains the same, they are not in the same manner, after some time, as 
they were at first affected ; a wise man ought not to be influenced at all 
by it. But what are those degrees we are to limit it by ? Let us fix these 
degrees in grief, a subject much canvassed. Fannius writes that P. Eut- 
ilius took it much to heart, that his brother was refused the consulate : 
but he seems to have been too much affected by it ; for it was the occa- 
sion of his death : he ought therefore to have borne it with more moderation. 
But let us suppose, that whilst he bore this with moderation, the 
death of his children had intervened ; here would have started a fresh 
grief, which, admitting it to be moderate in itself, yet still it would be a 
great addition to the other. Now to th%se let us add some acute pains of 



80 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 

body, the loss of his fortunes, blindness, banishment ; supposing then 
each misfortune to occasion an additional grief, the whole would be in- 
supportable. 

XVIII. The man who attempts to set bounds to vice, acts like one who 
should throw himself headlong from Leucate, persuaded he could stop 
himself whenever he pleased. Xow, as that is impossible, so a perturbed 
and disordered mind cannot refrain itself, and stop where it pleases. Cer- 
tainly whatever is bad in its increase, is bad in its birth: now grief, and 
all other perturbations, are doubtless baneful in their progress, and have 
therefore no small share of infection at the beginning ; for they go on of 
themselves when once they depart from reason, for every weakness is self- 
indulgent, and indiscreetly launches out, and doth not know where to 
stop. Wherefore the difference is small betwixt approving of moderate 
perturbations of mind, and moderate injustice, moderate cowardice, mod- 
erate intemperance. For whoever prescribes bounds to vice, admits of a 
part of it, which, as it is odious of itself, becomes the more so as it stands 
on slippery ground, and being once set forward, slides headlong, and can- 
not by any means be stopped. 

XIX. But what if the Peripatetics, -whilst we say that these perturba- 
tions should be extirpated, not only say they are natural, but that they 
were given by nature to a good purpose. They usually talk in this man- 
ner. In the first place, they say much in praise of anger ; they call it the 
whetstone of courage, and they say that angry men exert themselves 
most against an enemy or bad citizen : that those reasons are of little 
weight which depend on reflection; such as, it is a just war, it becomes 
us to fight for our laws, our liberties, our country ; they will allow no 
force in these, unless uur courage is warmed by anger. Nor do they con- 
fine their argument to warriors : but their opinion is, that no one can is- 
sue any rigid commands without some mixture of anger. In short, they 
have no notion, even of an orator either accusing or defending, without 
being spurred on by anger. And though it should not be real, they think 
his words and gesture must carry the appearance of it, that the action of 
the orator may excite this passion in his hearer! And they deny that 
any man was ever seen, who doth not know what it is to be angry : and 
they name what Ave call lenity, by the bad appellation of indolence: nor 
do they commend only this lust, (for anger is, as I defined it above, the 
lust of revenge,) but they maintain that kind of lust or desire to be given 
us by nature for very good purposes : that no one can execute any thing 
well but what he is in earnest about. Themistocles used to walk in the 
public places in the night, because he could not sleep : and when asked the 
reason, his answer was, that Militaries 1 trophies kept him awake. "Who 
has not heard how Demosthenes used to watch? who said it gave him 
pain, if any mechanic was up in a morning at his work before him. Last- 
ly, that some of the greatest philosophers has never made that progress 
in their studies, but from an ardent desire. We are informed that Py- 
thagoras, Democritns, and Plato visited the remotest parts of the world : 
they thought that they ought to go^vherever any thing was to be learn 



iQF CICERO. 8'i 

t>d. Now it is not conceivable that these things could be effected but by 
the greatest ardor of mind. 

XX. They say that even grief, which we describe as a monstrous fierce 
feeast, and to be avoided as such, was appointed by nature, not without 
some good purpose : that men should lament when they had committed a 
fault, well knowing they had exposed themselves to correction, rebuke, 
and ignominy. For they think those who can bear ignominy and infamy 
without pain are at liberty to commit what crimes they please : for with 
them, reproach is a stronger check than conscience. From Whence we have 
that in Afranius, boi rowed from common life; for when the abandoned 
son saith, Wretched that I am ! the severe father replies, 

Let him but grieve, no matter what the cause. 
And they say the other diseases of the mind have their use; pity incites us 
to the assistance of others, and to alleviate the calamities of men, who un- 
deservedly fall into them : that even envy and defamation are not without 
their use ; as when you see one attain what j r ou cannot, or observe another 
en a footing with yourself : that, should you take away fear, you would 
supplant all diligence in life ; which those use most who are afraid of the 
laws and the magistrates, who dread poverty, ignominy, death, and pain. 
But when they argue thus, they allow of their being retrenched, though 
they deny that they either can, or should be plucked up by the roots : so 
that their opinion is, that mediocrity is best in every thing. When they 
reason in this manner, what think you ? do they say something or nothing? 
A* To me they say something ; 1 wait therefore to hear what you will say 
to them. 

XXI. M. Perhaps I may find something : but this first ; do you take 
notice with what modesty the Academics behave themselves ? for the^ 
speak plainly to the purpose. The Peripatetics are answered by the Sto- 
ics ; they have my leave to fight it out ; who thiuk myself no otherwise 
eoucerned than to inquire after probabilities. The business is, then, if we can 
meet with any thing in this question that touches on the probable, beyond 
which human nature cannot proceed. The definition of a perturbation, as 
■Zeno, 1 think, has rightly determined it, is thus: That a perturbation is a 
■commotion of the mind against nature, in opposition to right reason ; or 
shorter thus, that a perturbation is a more vehement appetite; that is called 
more vehement Which is at a greater distance from the constant course of na- 
ture. What can I say to these definitions ? the most part of them we have from 
those who dispute with sagacity and acuteness : some indeed, such as the 
"ardors of the mind," and " the whetstones of virtue," savor of the pomp 
of rhetoricians. As to the question, if a brave man can maintain his cour- 
age without becoming angry ; it may be questioned with regard to the 
gladiators: though we observe much resolution even in them; they meet t 
converse, they agree about terms, so that they seem rather placid than an- 
gry. But let us admit some Placideianus of that trade, to be in such a 
4nind, as Lucilius relates of him : 

If for his blood you thirst, the task be mine ; 
12 



$2 THE TUSC ULAN DISPUTATIONS 

His laurels at my feet he shall resign ; 
Not but I know, before I reach his heart, 
First on myself a wound he will impart. 
I hate the man \, enrag'd I fight, and straight 
In action we had been, but that I wait 
Till each his sword had fitted to bis h;md, 
My rage I scarce can keep within command. 

XXII. But we see Ajax in Honrer advancing to meet Hector in battler 
cheerfully, without any of this boisterous -wrath, who had no sooner taken 
up his arms, but the first step be made inspired his associates with joy, his 
enemies with fear : that even Hector, as he is represented by Honrer; 
trembling, condemned himself for having challenged him to fight, Yet 
these conversed together, calmly and quietly, before they engaged ; ncr 
did they shew any anger, or outrageous behavior during the combat. Nor 
do I imagine that Torquatus, the first who obtained this surname, was in a 
rage, when he plundered the Gaul sf his collar: or that Marcellus's cour- 
age at Clastidium was owing to his anger. I could almost swear, Shat Af- 
ricanus, whom we are better acquainted with, from the freshness of his 
memory, was no ways inflamed by anger, when he covered Alienus Pelig- 
nus with his shield, and drove his sword into the enemy's breast. 'There 
may be some doubt of L. Brutus, if, through infinite hatred of the tyrant, 
he might not attack Arnus wit'i more rashness, for I observed they znutfc- 
ally killed each other in close fight. Why then do you call in the assist- 
tance of anger ? would courage, should it not begin to madden, lose its en- 
ergy ? What? do you imagine Hercules, whom the very courage, which 
you would bare to be anger, preferred to heaven, was angry when he en- 
gaged the Ervmanthian boar, or the Nemean lion 1 or was Theseus in » 
passion when he seized on the horns of the Marathonian bull ? Ti'ke care 
how you make courage to dej end in the least on rage : when anger is al- 
together irrational, and that is not courage which is void of reason. 

XXIII. We ought to hold all things ere in cDntetiDt: deith is to b e 
looked on with indifference ; pains and labors as tolerable. When these 
are established on judgment and conviction, then will thht stout and firm 
courage take place; unless you attribute to anger whatever is done with 
vehemence, alacrity, and spirit. To me indeed that very Scipto who was 
chief-priest, that favorer of the Baytflg of the Stoics, ''that no private man 
could be a wise man,' 7 doth not seem to be angry with Tiberius Gracchus, 
even when he left the consul in a languishing condition, and, though a pri- 
vate man himself, commanded, ith the authority of a consul,. that all who 
meant well to the republic should follow him. I do not know whether I 
have done any thing in the republic that has the appearance of courage ; 
but if J have, I" certainly did not do it in wrath. Doth any thing come 
nearer madness than anger ? which Ennius has well defined, the begin- 
ning of madness. The changing color, the alteration of our voice, the look 
of our eyes, our manner of fetching our breath, the little command we have 
over our words and actions, how little do they partake of a sound mind ! 
What can make a worse appearance than Homer's Achilles, or A game m- 



OP CICERO. 83 

*non, during the quarrel ? And a9 to Ajax, anger drove him into downright 
madness, and waa the occasion of his death. Courage therefore doth not 
want the patronage of anger; it is sufficiently provided, armed, and prepa- 
red of itself. We may as well say that drunkenness, or madness, is of ser- 
vice to courage, because those who are mad or drunk do a great many 
things often with more vehemence, Ajax was always brave, but most so 
«when in a passion, 

The greatest feat that Ajax e'er achiev'd 

Was when his single arm the Greeks relieved. 

Quitting the field ; urg'd on by rising rage, 

Forc'd the declining troops again t' engage. 

XXIV. Shall we say then that madness has its use ? Examine the de- 
finitions of courage : you will find it doth not require the assistance of pas- 
■sion. Courage is. then, an affection of the mind, that bears all things with 
subjection to the chief law ; or a firm maintainance of judgment in support- 
ing or repelling every thing that has a formidable appearance, or knowing 
what is formidable or otherwise, and by maintaining invariably such a sense 
of them, as to bear them, or despise them ; or^ in fewer words, according 
to Chrysippus : (for the above definition are Sphaerus's, one of the first 
ability in defining, as the Stoics think : but they are all pretty much alike, 
they give us only common notions, some one way, and some another.) But 
what is Chrysippus's definition? Fortitude, saith he, is the knowledge of 
nil things that are bearable: or an affection of the mind, which bears and 
supports every thing in obedience to the chief law of reason, without fear. 
Now, though we should take the same liberty with these, as Carneades 
used to do, I fear they will be the only philosophers : for which of these 
definitions doth not explain that obscure and intricate notion of courage 
which every man conceives within himself? which being thus explained, 
what can a warrior, a commander, or an orator, want more ? and no one 
-can think but that they will behave themselves courageously without an- 
ger. What? do not even the Stoics, who maintain tllat all fools are mad, 
make the same inferences ? for take away perturbations, especially a has- 
tiness of temper, and they w'.ll appear to talk very absurdly. But what 
they assert is thus : they say that all fool j are m-ad, as all dunghills stink ; 
not that they always do so, but stir them, and you will perceive it. Thus 
a hot man is not always in a passion; but provoke him, and you will see 
him run mad. Now, that very anger, which is of such service in war, 
what is its use at home with his wife, children, and family ? Is there, then, 
any thing that a perturbed mind can do better than that which is calm and 
steady ? or can any one be angry without a perturbation of mind ? Our 
people then were in the right, who, as all vices depend on our morals, and 
nothing is worse than a testy disposition, called angry men alone morose. 

XXV. Anger is in no wise becoming in an orator ; it is not amiss to af- 
fect it. Do you imagine I am angry when I plead with unusual vehe- 
mence and sharpness ? What ? when I write out my speeches after all ia 
over and past ? Or do you think iEsopus was ever angry when he acted, or 
Accius was so when he wrote ? They act indeed very well, but the orator 



84 THE TUSCULAX DISPUTATIONS" 

better than the player, provided he be really an orator : but then they 
carry it on without passion, and with a composed mind. But what wan- 
tonness is it to commend lust ? You produce Themistocles and Demos- 
thenes : to these you add Pythagoras, Democritus, and Plato. What, do 
you call studies lust ? now should these studies be of the most excellent turn, 
as those were which you mentioned, they ought however to be composed and 
tranquil : and what kind of philosophers are they who commend grief, than 
which nothing is more detestable ? Afranius has said much to their purpose, 

Let him but grieve, no mattor what the cause. 
But he spoke this of a debauched and dissolute youth : but we are inquir- 
ing after a constant and wise man. We may even allow a centurion, or 
standard-bearer, to be angry, or any others, whom, not to explain the 
mysteries of the rhetoricians, I shall not mention here, for to touch the 
passions, where reason cannot be come at, may have its use ; but my in- 
quiry, as I often aver, is of a wise man. 

XXYI. But even envy, detraction, pity, have their use. Why should 
you pity rather than assist, if it is in your power? Is it because you can: 
not be liberal without pity? We should not take cares on ourselves upon, 
another's account ; but ease others of their grief if we can. But that de- 
traction, or that vicious emulation, which resembles a rivalship, of what 
use is it? Xow envy implies being uneasy at another's good, and that be- 
cause he enjoys it. How can it be right, that you should voluntarily 
grieve, rather than take the trouble of acquiring what you want to have; 
for it is madness in the highest degree, to desire to be the only one that 
has it. But who can with correctness speak in praise of a mediocrity of 
evils ? Can any one in whom there is lust or desire, be otherwise than 
libidinous or desirous? or not be angry, where any vexation is, not to be 
vexed? or where fear is, not to be fearful? Do we look then on the libidi- 
nous, the angry, the anxious, and the timid man, as persons of 
wisdom ? of whose excellence I could speak very largely and copious- 
ly, but wish to be as short as possible. Thus, that wisdom is an acquain- 
tance with all divine and human affairs, or a knowledge of the cause of 
every thing. Hence it is, that it imitates what is divine, and holds all 
human concerns as inferior to virtue. Did you then say. that it was your 
opinion that such a man was as naturally liable to perturbation as the 
sea is exposed to winds ? What is there that can discompose such gravi- 
ty and constancy? Any thing sudden or unforeseen? How can any 
thing of this kind befall one, to -whom nothing is sudden that can happen 
to man? Now. as to their saving that redundancies should be pared off, 
and only what is natural remain : what, I pray you, can be natural, 
which may be too exuberant? All these proceed from the roots of errors, 
which must be entirely plucked up and destroyed, not pared and lopt off. 

XXA II. But as I suspect that your inquiry is more with regard to 
yourself than the wise man, for you allow him to be free from all pertur- 
bations, and would willingly yourself be so too ; let us see what remedies 
may be applied by philosophy to the diseases of the mind. There is cer- 
tainly some remedy ; nor has nature been so unkind to the human race, 



OF CICERO. 85. 

fts to have discovered so many salutary things for the body, and none for 
the mind. She has even been kinder to the mind than the body ; inas- 
much as you must seek abroad for the assistance the body requires ; the 
mind has all -within itself. But by how much more excellent and divine 
the mind is, it requires the more diligence ; -which, -when it is -well 
applied, it discovers what is best ; when neglected, is involved in mam- 
errors. I shall apply then all my discourse to you j for though you ap- 
pear to inquire about the wise man, your inquiry may possibly be about 
yourself. Various, then, are the cures of those perturbations -which I 
have expounded ; for every disorder is not to be appeased the same -way ; 
— one medicine must be applied to one vrho mourns, another to the pitiful, 
another to the person who envies ; for there is this difference to be maintain- 
ed in all the four perturbations : -we are to consider, -whether the cure is to 
be applied, as to a perturbation in general, that is, a contempt of reason, or 
vehement appetite ; or whether it -would be better directed to particular per- 
turbations, as to fear, lust, and the rest : whether that is not to be much 
affected by that which occasioned the grief, or whether every kind of 
grief is not to be entirely set aside. As, should any one grieve that he is 
poor, the question is, would you maintain poverty to be no evil, or would 
you contend that a man ought not to grieve at any thing? Certainly this 
is best; for should you not convince him with regard to poverty, you must 
allow him to grieve: but if you remove grief by particular arguments. 
such as I used yesterday, the evil of poverty is in some manner removed. 
XXVIII. But any perturbation of the mind of this sort may be, as it 
were, wiped away by this method of appeasing the mind: by shewing 
that there is no good in what gave rise to joy and lust, nor any evil in 
what occasioned fear or grief. But certainly the most effectual cure is, 
by shewing that all perturbations are of themselves vicious, and have no- 
thing natural or necessary in them. As we see grief itself is easily soft- 
ened, when we charge those who grieve with weakness, and an effemin- 
ate mind : or when we commend the gravity and constancy of those who 
bear calmly whatever befalls them here, which indeed is generally the 
case with those who look on these as real evils, but yet think they should 
be borne with resignation. One imagines pleasure to be a good, another 
money; and yet the one may be called off from intemperance, the other 
from cov«tousness. The other method and address, which, at the same 
time that it removes the false opinion, withdraws the disorder, has more 
subtilty in it : but it seldom succeeds, and is not applicable to vulgar 
minds, for there are some diseases which that medicine can by no means 
remove. For should any one be uneasy that he is without virtue, with- 
out courage, void of duty, or honesty ; his anxiety proceeds from a real 
evil, and yet we must apply another method of cure to him ; and such a 
one as all the philosophers, hewever they may differ about other things, 
agree in. For they must necessarily consent to this, that commotions of 
the mind in opposition to right reason are vicious : that, even admitting 
those things not to be evils, which occasion fear or grief; nor those good 
which provoke desire or joy, yet that very commotion itself is vicious; 



St) THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 

for we mean by the expressions magnanimous and brave, one who is res- 
olute, sedate, grave, and superior to every thing in this life : but one who 
•either grieves, fears, covets, or is transported with passion, cannot come 
under that denomination ; for these things are consistent only with 
those who look on the things of this world as an overmatch for their 
i minds. 

XXIX. Wherefore, as I before said, the philosophers have all one me- 
thod of cure ; that nothing is to be said to that, whatever it is, that dis- 
turbs the mind, but concerning the perturbation itself. Thus, first, with 
regard to desire ; when the business is only to remove that, the inquiry 
is not to be, whether that be good or evil, which provokes lust ; but lust 
itself is to be removed : so that, whether honesty be the chief good, or 
pleasure, or whether it consists in both these together, or in the other 
three kinds of goods, yet, should there be in any one too vehement an ap- 
petite of even virtue itself, the whole discourse should be directed to the 
■deterring him from that vehemence. But human nature, when placed 
yi a conspicuous view, gives us every argument fur appeasing the mind ; 
and to make this the more distinct, the law and conditions of life should 
be explained in our discourse. Therefore it was not without reason, that 
Socrates is reported, when Euripides acquainted him with his play, call-' 
■ed Orestes, to have begged that the three first verses might be repeated : 

What tragic story men can mournful tell, 
What'er from fate or from the gods befell, 

That human nature can support 

But in order to persuade those to whom any misfortune has happened, 
that they can and ought to bear it, it is very useful to set before them 
others who have borne the like. Indeed the method of appeasing grief 
was explained in my dispute of yesterday, and in my book of Consolation, 
which I wrote in the midst of my own grief, for I was not the wise man : 
and applied this, notwithstanding Chrysippus's advice to the contrary, 
who is against applying a medicine to the fresh swellings of the mind : 
but I did it, and committed a violence on nature, that the greatness of my 
grief might give way to the greatness of the medicine. 

XXX. But fear borders upon grief, of which I have already said enough : 
but I must say a little more on that. Now, as grief proceeds from what 
is present, so fear from future evil : so that some have said that fear is a 
certain part of grief : others have called fear the harbinger of trouble: 
which, as it were, introduces the ensuing evil. Now the reasons that 
make what is present tolerable, make what is to come of little weight : 
for with regard to both, we should take care to do nothing low or grovel- 
ling, soft or effeminate, mean or abject. But notwithstanding we should 
speak of the inconstancy, imbecility, and levity of fear itself, yet it is of 
greater service to despise those very things we are afraid of. So that it 
fell out very well, whether it was by accident or design, that I disputed 
the first and second day on death and pain ; two things that are the most 
dreaded: now, if what I then said was approved of, we are in a great de- 
gree freed from fear. And thus far on the opinion of evils. 



OF CICIiROv 87 

XXXI. Proceed we now to goods, i. e. joy and desire. To me, indeed,, 
one thing alone seems to take in the cause of all that relates to the per- 
turbations of the mind; that all perturbations are in our own power; 
that they are taken up upon opinion ; and are voluntary. This error 
then must be discharged ; this opinion removed : and, as with regard to 
imagined evils, we are to make them more tolerable, so with respect to 
goods, we are to lessen the violent effects of those things which are 
called great and joyous. But one thing is to be observed, that equally 
relates both to good and evil : that should it be difficult to persuade any 
one, that none of those things which disturb the mind are to be looked on 
as good or evil, yet a different cure is to be applied to different motions ; 
and the malevolent person is to be corrected by one way of reasoning,. 
the lover by another, the anxious man by another, and the fearful by 
another: and it were easy for any one who pursues the best approved 
method of reasoning, with regard to good and evil, to maintain that no 
fool can be affected with joy, as he never can have any thing good. But, 
at present, my discourse proceeds upon the common received notions^- 
Let, then, honours, riches, pleasures, and the rest, be the Tery good things 
they are imagined ; yet a too elevated and exulting joy on the possessing 
them is unbecoming ; for, though it Avere allowable to laugh, a loud laughr 
would be indecent. Thus a mind enlarged by joy, is as blameable as a 
contraction of it in grief: and longing is of equal levity with the joy of~ 
possessing; and as those who are too dejected are said to be effeminate r 
so they who are too elate with joy, are properly called volatile : and as 
envy partakes of grief, so to be pleased with another's misfortune, or jcy; 
and both these are usually corrected, by shewing the wildness and insen- 
sibility of them. And as it becomes a man to be cautious, but it is un- 
becoming to be fearful ; so to be pleased is proper, but to be joyful impro- 
per. I have, that I might be the better understood, distinguished pleas- 
ure from joy. I have already said above, that a contraction of the mind' 
can never be right, but an elation may: for the joy of Hector in Naevius 
is one thing, 

'Tis joy indeed to hear mv praises sung 
By you, who are the theme of honor's tongue ; 
but that of the character in Trabea another, " The kind procuress, allur- 
ed by my money, will observe my nod, will watch my desires, and study 
my will. If I but move the door with my little finger, instantly it flies 
open ; and if Chrysis should unexpectedly discover me, she will run 
with joy to meet me, and throw herself into my arms." Now he will tell 
you how excellent he thinks this : 

Not even fortune herself is so fortunate. 
XXXII. Any one who attends the least to it will be convinced how un- 
becoming this joy is. And as they are very shameful, who are immoder- 
ately delighted with the enjoyment of venereal pleasures ; so are they very 
scandalous, who lust vehemently after them. And all that which I com- 
monly called love (and believe me I can find out no other name to call it 
by) is of such levity, that nothing, I think, is to be compared to it; of 
which Caecilius : 



88 TttE TUSCULAS DISPUTATIONS 

1 hold the man of every sense bereav'd, 
Who grants not love to be of gods the chief; 
Whose mighty power whate'er is good effects, 
Who gives to each his beauty and defects : 
Hence health and sickness ; wit and folly hence, 
The God that love and hatred doth dispense ! 

An excellent corrector of life this same poetry! which thinks that love, 
the promoter of debauchery and vanity, should have a place in the coun* 
"oil of the gods. I am speaking of comedy : which could not subsist at all, 
but on our approving of these debaucheries. But what said that chief of 
the Argonauts in tragedy? 

My life I owe to honor less than love. 
What then? this love of Medea, what a train of miseries did it occasion! 
und yet the same woman has the assurance to say to her father, in am*, 
other poet, that she had a husband 

Dearer by love than ever fathers were. 
XXXIII. Bat let us allow the poets to trifle: in whose fables we see 
Jupiter himself engaged in debaucheries: apply we then to the masters 
of virtue, the philosophers who deny love to be any thing carnal ; and in 
this they differ from Epicurus, who, I think, is not much mistaken. For 
what is that love of friendship ? How comes it* that no one is in love 
with a deformed young man, <>r a handsome old one? 1 am of opinion, 
that this love of men had its rise from the gymnastics of the Greeks, 
where these kinds of loves are free and allowed of: therefore Ennius 
spoke well ; 

The censure of this crime to those is due, 

Who naked bodies 6 1 to view. 

Xow supposing them chaste, which I think is hardly possible ; they are 
uneasy and distressed and the more so, as they contain and refrain them- 
selves* But to pass over the love of women, where nature has allowed 
more liberty ; who can misunderstand the poets in their rape of Gany- 
mede, or not apprehend what Laius saith, and what he would be at, in 
Euripides? Lastly, what the principal poets and the most learned have 
published of themselves in their poems and songs? What doth Aleus, 
who was distinguished in his own republic for bravery, write on the love 
of young men? and all Anaereon's poetry is on love. But Ibycus of 
Rhegium appears, from his writings, to have had this love stronger on 
him than all the rest. 

XXXIV. Xow we see that the loves of these were libidinous. There 
have arisen some amongst us philosophers (and Plato is at the head of 
them, whom Dicaearchus blames not without reason ) who have counten- 
anced love. The Stoics in truth say, not only that their wise man may 
be a lover, but they also define love itself to be an endeavor of making 
friendship from the appearance of beauty. Xow, provided there is anyone 
in the nature of things, without desire, without care, without a sigh ;such 
a one may be a lover: for he is free from all lust : but I have nothing to 
saj to him, as lust is my subject. But should there be any love, as there 



OF CICERO. 89 

certainly is, which is hut little short, if at all, of madness, guch as hig m 
the Leucadia, 

Should there be any god whose care I am ; 
it is incumbent on all the gods to see that he enjoys his amorous pleas- 
ure. 

Wretch that I am ; 
Nothing tru«r, and he saith very well. 

What, are you sane, lamenting at this rate ? 
He seems even to his friends to be out of his senses : then how tragical 
he becomes ! 

Thy aid, divine Apollo, I implore, 
And thine, dread ruler of the wat'ry store ! 
Oh ! all ye winds, assist me ! 
He thinks the whole world should be overturned to help his love : he ex- 
cludes Venus alone as unkind to him. " Thy aid, Venus, why should 
I invoke?" He thinks Venus too much employed in her own lust, to have 
regard to any thing else, as if he himself had not said, and committed 
these shameful things from lust. 

XXXV. Now the cure for one affected in this manner, is to shew, how 
light, how contemptible, how very trifling he is in what he desires ; how 
he may turn his affections to another object, or accomplish his desires by 
some other means, or that he may entirely disregard it ; sometimes he is 
to be led away to things of another kind, to study, business, or other 
different engagements and concerns : very often the cure is affected by 
change of place, as sick people, that have not recovered their strength. 
Some think an old love may be driven out by a new one, as one nail 
drives out another : but he should be principally advised, what madness 
love is : for of all the perturbations of the mind, nothing is more vehe- 
ment ; though, without charging it with rapes, debaucheries, adultery, or 
even incest, the baseness of any of these being very blameable ; yet, I say, not 
to mention these, the very perturbation of the mind in love, is base of it- 
self; for, to pass over all its mad tricks, those very things which are look- 
ed on as indifferent, what weakness do they argue? " Affronts, jealousies, 
jars, parleys, wars, then peace again. Now, for you to ask advice to lovo 
by, is all one as if you should ask advice to run mad by." New is not this 
inconstancy and mutability of mind enough to deter one by its own de- 
formity ? We are to demonstrate, as was said of every perturbation, that 
it consists entirely in opinion and judgment, and is owing to ourselves. 
For if love were natural, all would be in love, and always so, and love 
the same object; nor would one be deterred by shame, another by reflec- 
tion, another by satiety. 

XXXVI. Anger, too, when it disturbs the mind any time, leaves no 
room to doubt its being madness : by the instigation of which, we see 
fcach contention as this between brothers: 

Where was there ever impudence like thine ? 
Who on thy malice ever could refine ? 
13 






90 THE TUSCULAX DISPUTATION 

You know what follows : for abuses are thrown out by these brother, 
with great bitterness, in every other verse ; so that you may easily kno* 
them for the sons of Atreus, of that Atreus who invented a new punishment 
for his brother: 

I, who his cruel heart to gall am bent, 

Some new, unheard-of torment must invent. 
Now what were these inventions ? Hear Thyestes : 

My impious brother fain would have me eat 

My children, and thus serves them' up for meat. 
To what length now will not anger go ? even as far as madness. There- 
fore we say properly enough, that angry men have given up their power,, 
that is, they are out of the power of advice, reason, and understanding ; 
for these ought to have power over the whole mind. Now yon should put 
those out of the way, whom they endeavor to attack, till they have recol- 
lected themselves ; but what doth recollection here imply, but getting to- 
gether the dispersed parts of their mind ? or they are to be begged and 
entreated, if they have the means of revenge, to defer it to another oppor- 
tunity, till their anger cool?. But the expression of cooling implies, cer- 
tainly, that there was a heat raised there in opposition to reason: from 
whence chat saving of Arehytas is commended ; who being somewhat pro- 
voked at his steward, " How would I have treated you," saith he, " if I 
had not been in a passion V 

XXXVII. Where then are they who say that anger has its nse? Cant 
madness be of any use? But still it is natural. Can any thing be na- 
tural that is against reason? or how is it, if anger is natural, that one is 
more inclined to anger than another? or how is it, that the lust of re- 
venge should cease before it has revenged itself? or that any one should 
repent of what he had done in a passion? as we see Alexander could 
scarce keep his hands from himself, when he had killed his favorite Cly- 
tus: so great was his compunction ! Now who, that is acquainted with 
these, can doubt but that this motion of the mind is altogether in opin- 
ion and voluntary ? for who can doubt but that disorders of the mind, 
such as covetousness, a desire of glory, arise from a great estimation of 
those tilings by which the mind is disordered? from whence we may un- 
derstand, that every perturbation is founded in opinion. And if boldness, 
i. e. a firm assurance of mind, is a kind of knowledge and serious opinion 
not hastily taken up: then diffidence is a fear of an expected and impend- 
ing evil: and if hope is an expectation of good, fear must of course be an 
expectation of evil. Thus fear and other perturbations are evils. There- 
fore as constancy proceeds from knowledge, BO perturbation from error. 
Now they who are said to be naturally inclined to anger, or pitiful, 
or envious, or any thing of this kind ; their minds are constitutionally, as 
it were, in bad health, yet they are curable, as is said of Socrates, when 
Zopyrus, who professed knowing the nature of every one from his person, 
had heaped a gi eat many vices on him in a public assembly, he was 
laughed at by others, who could perceive no such vices in Socrates : but 
Socrates kept him in countenance, by declaring that such vices were na- 



OF CICDRO. °1 

turpi to him, but he had got the better of them by his reason. The^eforo, 
as any one who has the appearance of the best constitute et bo 

more inclined to some particular disorder, so different minds may be dif- 
ferently inclined to different diseases. But those who are said to be vi- 
cious, not by nature, but their own fault ; their vices proceed from wrong 
opinions of good and bad things, so that one is more prone than another 
to different motions and perturbations. And so in the body, an inveter- 
ate disorder is harder to be got rid of than a perturbation ; and a fresh tumor 
in the eyes is sooner cured than a defluction of any continuance is remov- 
ed. 

XXXVIII. But as the cause of perturbations is discovered, all which 
arise from the judgment -or opinion, and volitions, I shall put an end to 
this discourse. But we ought to be assured, the ends of good and evil 
being discovered, as fir as they are discoverable by man, that nothing 
can be deshei of philosophy greater, or more useful, than what I have 
disputed of those four days. For to a contempt of death, and the few en- 
abled to bear pain, I have added the appeasing of grief, than which there 
is no greater to man. Though every perturbation of mind is grievou9 
and differs but little from madness ; yet we are used to say of others, when 
they are under any perturbation, as of fear, joy, or desire, that they are 
moved and disturbed; but of those who give themselves up to grief, that 
they are miserable, afflicted, wretched, unhappy. So that it doth not seem 
to be by accident, but with reason proposed by you, that I should dispute 
seperately of grief, and of the other perturbations ; for there lies the spring 
and head of all our miseries.- but the cure of grief, and of other disorders, 
is one and the same, in that they are all voluntary, and founded on opin- 
ion ; we take them on ourselves because it seems right so to do. Philoso- 
phy promises to pluck up this error, as the rojt of all our evils: let us 
surrender ourselves to be instructed by it, and suffer ourselves to be cured; 
for whilst these evils have possession of us, we not only cannot be happy, 
but cannot be right in our minds. We must either deny that reason can 
effect any tiling, while, on the other hand, nothing can be done right with- 
out reason ; or, since philosophy depends on the deductions of reason, we 
must seek from her, if we would be good or happy, every help and assis- 
tance for living well and happily. 

BOOK V. 

TTHETHER VIRTUE ALONE BE SUFFICIENT FOR A HAPPY LIFE. 

This fifth day, Brutus, shall put an end to our Tusculan Disputations : on 
which diy I disputed on your favorite subject. For I perceived from 
that accurate book you wrote me, as well as from your frequent conversa- 
tion, that you are clearly of this opinion, that virtue is of itself sufficient 
for a happy life : and though it may be difficult to prove this, on account 
of the many various strokes of fortune, yet it is a truth of such a nature. 



02 THE TUSCULAH DISPUTATIONS 

that we should endeavor to facilitate the proof of it. For among all tha 
topics of philosophy, there is none of more dignity or importance. As 
the first philosophers must have had some inducement, to neglect every 
thing for the search of the best state of life ; surely it was with the hopes 
of living happily, that they had laid out so much care and pains on that 
study. Now, if virtue was discovered and carried to perfection by them ; 
and if virtue is a sufficient security for a happy life : who but must think 
the work of philosophising excellently established by them, and undertaken 
by me? But if virtue, as subject to such various and uncertain accidents, 
is but the slave of fortune, and not of sufficient ability to support herself; 
I am afraid we should seem rather to offer up our petitions to her, than 
endeavor to place our confidence in virtue for a happy life. Indeed, when 
I reflect on those troubles with which I have been severely exercised by 
fortune, I begin to suspect this opinion, and sometimes even to dread the 
weakness and frailty of human nature; for I am afraid, lest M nature 
has given us infirm bodies, and has joined to these incurable disease- and 
intolerable pains, she might also have given us minds participating of 
these bodily pains, and harassed with troubles and uneasinesses peculiar- 
ly her own. But here I correct myself, for forming my judgment of the 
force of virtue, more from weakness of others, or mine own perhaps, than 
from virtue itself: for that (provided I ich a thing a.s virtue, and 

your uncle Brutus has removed all doubt of it) has every thing that can 
befall man in subjection to her ; and by disregarding them, is not at all 
concerned at human accidents: and being free from every imperfection, 
thinks nothing beyond herself can relate to her. But we, who increase every 
approaching evil by our fear, and every present one by our grief, d 
rather to cendemn the nature of things, than our own err 

II. But the amendment of this fault, and of all our other vice? and of- 
fences, is to be sought for in philosophy: to whose protection as my own 
inclination and desire led me, from my earliest days, so. under rny 
ent misfortunes, I have recourse to the same port, from whence I set out, 
after having been tossed by a violent tempest. Philosophy, thou 
ductor of life! thou discoverer of virtue, and expeller of vices ! what had 
not only I myself been, but the whole life of man, withoiu you 

we owe the origin of cities : you called together the dispersed race of men 
into social life; you united them together, first, by placing them near one 
another, then by marriages, and lastly by the communication 
and languages. To you we owe the invention of laws ; you instructed us 
in morals and discipline. To you I fly for assistance : and as I formerly 
submitted to you in a great degree, BO now I surrender up myself entire- 
ly to you. For one day well spent, and agreeably to your precept*, is 
preferable to an eternity of sir. Whose assistance then can be of mot- 
vice to me than yours, which has wquility of life, 
removed the fear of death? But philosophy is so far from being pre 
as she hath deserved of man, that she is wholly neg* MOBS, and 
ill spoken of by many. Can any speak ill of the parent o£ life, and 
to pollute himself thus with parricide ! and be so impiously ungrateful m 



or CICERO. 



93 



to accuse her, whom he ought to reverence, had he been less acquainted 
with her? But this error, I imagine, and this darkness, has spread itself 
over the minds of ignorant men, from their not being able to look so far 
back, and from their not imagining that those by whom human life was 
first improved, were philosophers : for though we see philosophy to have 
been of long standing yet the name must be acknowledged to be but mo- 
dern. 

III. But, indeed, who can dispute the antiquity of philosophy, either 
in fact or name ? which acquired this excellent name from the ancients, 
by the knowledge of the origin and causes of every thing, both divine and 
human. Thus those seven 2 (poi, as they were held and called by the 
Greeks, and wise men by us : and thus Lycurgus many ages before, in 
whose time, before the building of this city, Homer is said to have been, 
as well as Ulysses and Nestor in the heroic ages were all reported really 
to have been, as they were called, wise men ; nor would it have been said, 
that Atlas supported the heavens, or that Prometheus was bound to 
Caucasus, nor would Cepheus, with his wife, his son-in-law and his 
daughter, have been enrolled among the constellations, but that their 
more than human knowledge of the heavenly bodies had transferred 
their names into an erroneous fable. /From whence, all who were exer- 
cised in the contemplation of nature were held to be, as well as called, 
wise men: and that name of theirs continued to the age of Pythagoras, 
who is reported to have gone to Phlius, as we find it in Ponticus Hera- 
clides, a very learned man, ^nd a hearer of Plato's and to have discourse^ 
very learnedly and copiously on certain subjects with Leon, prince of the 
Phliasii. y Leon, admiring his ingenuity and eloquence, asked him what 
art he particularly professed ? his answer was, that he was acquainted 
with no art, but that he was a philosopher. Le.m, surprised at the novel- 
ty of the name, inquired what he meant by the name of philosopher, and 
in what they differed from other men? on which Pythagoras replied, 
*' That the life of man seemed to him to resemble those games which were 
kept with the greatest entertainment of sports, and the general concourse 
of all Greece. For as there were some, whose pursuit was glory, and the 
honor of a crown, for the performance of bodily exercises ; so others were 
induced by the gain of buying and selling, and mere lucrative motives : 
but there was likewise one sort of them, and they by far the best, whose * 
aim was neither applause, nor profit, but who came merely as spectators m 
through curiosity, to remark what was done, and to see in what manner 
things were carried on there. Thus we come from another life and nature 
unto this, as it were out of another city, to some much frequented mart ;' 
some slaves to glory, others to money : that there are some few, who, tak- 
ing no account of any thing else, earnestly look into the nature of things : 
that these call themselves studious of wisdom, that is, philosophers ; and 
as there it is more reputable to be a looker on, without making any ac- 
quisition, so in life, the contemplating on things, and acquainting your- 
self with them, greatly exceeds every other pursuit of life." 

IV. Nor was Pythagoras the inventor only of the name, but he enlarg 






i> 



$4 THB TUSCULA2C DISPUTATIONS 

ed aha the thing itself, and, when he came into Italy after this conversa- 
tion at Phlius, adorned that Greece, which is called Great Greece, both 
privately and publicly, with the most excellent institutes and arts ; of 
whose discipline, perhaps, I shall find another opportunity to speak. But 
numbers and motions, the beginning and end of things, were the subjects 
of the ancient philosophy down to Socrates, who was a hearer of Arche- 
laus, the disciple of Anaxagoras. These made diligent inquiry into the 
-magnitude of the stars, their distances, courses, and all that relates to the hea- 
vens. But Socrates Avas the first who brought down philosophy from the 
heavens, placed it in cities, introduced it into families, and obliged it to 
examine into life and morals, good and evil. Whose several metfa 
disputing, together with the variety of his topics, and the - of his 

abilities, being immortalized by the memory and writings of Plato, gave 
rise to many sects af philosophers of different sentiments: of all which I 
have principally adhered to that, which, in my opinion, Socrates himself 
followed: to -conceal my own opinion, clear others from their errors, and 
to discover what lias the most probability in every question. A custom 
Cameadea maintained with great copiousness and acutenesa, and which 
I myself have often used on many occasions elsewhei ble to 

which wanner I disputed too in my Tusculum, and indeed I hare 
you a book of the four firmer days' deputations; but the fifth day, when 
we had seated ourselves as before, what we were to dispute on was pro- 
posed thus. 

V. A, I do not think virtue can p -••lfiieient to a happy life, 

M. But my Brutus thinks so, whose judgment, with suhmission, 1 _ 
ly prefer to yours. A. I make no doubt of it ; but your rogard for him is 
not the business now. but what I said was my opinion: I wish you to dis- 
pute on that. 1L What ! do you deny that virtue can possibly be suffi- 
cient for a happy life? A. It is what 1 entirely deny. M. What! 
virtue surhci 'lit to enable us to live , is we ought, honestly, coinmendably, 
or, in fine, to live well? A. Certainly sufficient. M. Can you then help 
■calling any one miserable, who lives ill? or any one whom you allow to 
live well, will you deny t > live happily? A. Why may I not? for a man 
may be upright in his life, honest, praiseworthy, and therefore live well, 
even in the midst of torments, but a happy life doth not aspire after that. 
Ji. What then? is your happy life left on the outside of the prison, whilst 
constancy, gravity, wisdom, and the other virtues, are surrendered up to 
the executioner, and bear punishment and pain without reluctance? A. 
You must look out for something new, if you would do an; These 

things have very little effect on me, not merely frstn their being common, 
but principally because, like certain light wines, that will not bear wa- 
ter, these arguments of the Stoics are pleasanter to taste than to swallow. 
As when the assemblage of virtue is committed to the rack, it rail 
reverend a spectacle before our eye, that happiness seems to hasten on, 
and not to suffer them to be deserted by her. But when you 
take your attention off from these fancies, to the truth and the reali- 
ty, what remains without disguise is, whether any one can b« happy in 



OF CICERO. 9& 

tWmenf. "Wherefore bt us examine that, and not be under any appre- 
hensions', lest the virtues should expostulate and complain, that they are- 
forsaken by happiness. For if prudence is connected with every virtue 
prudence itsejf discovers this, that all good men are not therefore happy ; 
and recollects many things of M. Attilius, Q. Ccepio, M. Aquilius : and 
prudence herself, if these representations are more agreeable to you. thai* 
tire things themselves, pull back happiness, when it is endeavoring to 
throw itself into torments, and denies that it has any connection with? 
pain or torture. 

VI. M. I can easily bear with your behaving in this manner, though 
it is not fair in you to prescribe to me, how would you have me to dispute : 
but I ask you, if I effected any thing or nothing in the foregoing days ? A. Yes, 
something was done; som*e little matter indeed. M. But if that Is the 
case, this question is routed', and almost put an end to. A. How so ? M. 
Because turbulent motions and violent agitations of the mind, raised and 
elated by a rash impulse, getting the better of reason, leave no room for 
a happy life. For who that fears either pain or death, the one of which 
is always present, the other always impending, can be otherwise than 
miserable? Now supposing the same person, which is often the case, to 1 
be afraid of poverty, ignominy, infamy, weakness, or blindness ; or, lastly 
Which doth not befall particular men, but often the most powerful nations, 
slavery; now can any one under the apprehensions of these be happy? 
What ? if he not only dreads as future, but actually feels and bears then** 
at present ? Let us unite in the same person, banishment, mourning, the 
loss of children ; whoever is. in. the midstof this affliction is worn with sick- 
ness ; can he be otherwise than very miserable indeed? What reason can 
there be, why a man should not rightly enough be called misera- 
ble, that we see inflamed and raging with lust, coveting every thing with 
an insatiable desire, and the more pleasures he receives from any thing, 
still thirsting the more violently after them ? And as to a man vainly ela- 
ted, exulting with an empty joy, and boasting of himself without reason, is 
not he so much the more miserable, as he thinks himself the happier? 
Therefore, as these are miserable, so on the other hand they are happy, 
who are alarmed by no fears, w r asted by no griefs, provoked by no lusts, 
melted by no languid pleasures that arise from vain and exulting joys. 
We look on the sea as calm when not the least breath of air disturbs its 
waves ; so the placid and quiet state of the mind is dicovered when 
unmoved by any perturbation. Now if there be any one who holds the 
power of fortune, and every thing human, every thing that can pos- 
sibly befall any man, as tolerable, so as to be out of the reach of fear of 
anxiety ; and should such a one covet nothing, and be lifted up by no vain 
joy of mind, what can prevent his being happy ? and if these are the ef- 
fects of virtue, why cannot virtue itself make men happy ? 

VII. A. One of these is undeniable, that they who are under no "ap- 
prehensions, no ways uneasy, who covet nothing, are lifted up by no vain 
joy, are happy : therefore I grant you that ; and the other I am not "at. 
liberty to dispute; for it was proved by your former disputations that a 



95 THH TTJSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 

wis« man was free from every perturbation of mind. M. Doubtless, then, 
the dispute is over. A. Almost, I think, indeed. M. But yet, that is 
more usual with the mathematicians than philosophers. For the geome- 
tricians, when they teach any thing, if what they had before taught re- 
lates to their present subject, they take that for granted, and already pro- 
ved : and explain only what they had not written on before. The philos- 
phers, whatever subject they have in hand, get every thing together that 
relates to it ; notwithstanding they had disputed on it somewhere else. 
Were not that the case, why should the Stoics say so much on that ques- 
tion, whether virtue was abundantly sufficient to a happy life? when it 
would have been answer enough, that they had before taught, that no- 
thing was good but what was honest: this being proved, the consequence 
would be, that virtue was sufficient to a happy life : and, as follows from 
the other, so if a happy life consists in virtue, nothing can be good but 
what is honest : but they do not act in this manner: for they have distinct 
"books of honesty, and the chief good; for though it follows from the for- 
mer, that virtue has power enough to make life happy, yet they treat the 
other distinctly ; fur every thing, especially of so great consequence, should 
be supported by arguments which belong to that alone. Have a care how 
you imagine philosophy to have uttered any thing more noble, or that 
she has promised any thing more fruitful or of greater consequence: for, 
good gods ! doth she not engage, that she will so accomplish him who 
submits to her laws. ;is to be always armed against fortune, and to have 
every assurance within himself of living well and happily: that he shall, 
in one word, bo for ever happy. But let us see what she will perform. 
In the meanwhile I look Upon it as a great thing, that she has promised. 
For Xerxes, who was loaded with all the regards and gifts of fortune, not 
satisfied with his armies of horse and foot, nor the multitude of his ships, 
nor his infinite treasure of gold, offered a reward to any one who could 
find out a new pleasure : which, when discovered, he was not satisfied 
with ; nor can there be an end to lusts. I wish we could engage any one, 
\>y a reward, to produce something the better to establish us in this. 

VIII. A. I wish so indeed: hut I want a little information. For I al- 
low, that in what you have stated, the one is the consequence of the other ; 
that as, if what is honest be the only good, it must follow, that a happy 
life is the effect of virtue; so that if a happy life consists in virtue, no- 
thing can be good but virtue. But your Brutus, on the authority of Ar- 
isto and Antiochus, doth not see this: for he thinks the case to be the 
same, even if there was any thing good besides virtue. M. What then? 
do you imagine I shall dispute against Brutus? .1. You may do what 
you please: for it is not for me to prescribe what you shall do. M. How 
these things agree together shall be inquired somewhere else : for I fre- 
quently disputed that with Antiochus. and lately with Aristo, when, as 
general, 1 lodged with him at Athens. For to me it seemed that no one 
could possibly be happy under any evil: but a wise man might be under 
evil, if there are any evils of body or fortune. These things were said, which 
Antiochus has inserted in hie books in many places: that virtue itself was 



OF CICERO. 97 

sufficient to make life happy, but not the happiest : and that many things 
are so called from the major part, though they do not include all, aa 
strength, health, riches, honor, and glory : which are determined by their 
kind, not their number : thus a happy life is so called from its being in a 
great degree so, though it should fall short in some point. To clear this 
up, is not absolutely neces sary at present, though it seems to be said 
without any great consistency : for I do not apprehend what is wanting 
to one that is happy, to make him happier ; for if any thing be wanting, 
ho cannot be so much as happy ; and as to what they say, that every thing ig 
called and looked upon from the greater part, may be admitted in somo 
things. But when they allow three kinds of evils; when any one is op- 
pressed with all the evils of two kinds, as with adverse fortune, and his 
body worn out and harrassed with all sorts of pains, shall we say such a 
one is little short of a happy life, not to say, the happiest? This is what 
Theophrastus could not maintain : for when he had laid down, that 
stripes, torments, tortures, the ruin of one's country, banishment, tho 
loss of children, had great influence as to living miserably and unhappi- 
ly, he durst not use any high and lofty expressions, when he was so lovf 
and abject in his opinion. 

IX. How right he was is not the question ; he certainly was consistent. 
Therefore I am not for objecting to consequences where the premises arc 
allowed of. But this most elegant and learned of all the philosophers is 
taken to task when he asserts his three kinds of good: but he is attacked 
by all for that book which he wrote on a happy life in which book he has 
many arguments, why one who is tortured and racked cannot be happy. 
For in that he is supposed to say that guch a one cannot reach a complete 
happy life. He nowhere indeed said so absolutely but what he saith 
amounts to the same thing. Can I then find fault with him to whom I allow- 
ed, that pains of body are evils, that tho ruin of a man's fortunes is an evil, 
if he should say that every good man is not happy, when all those things 
which he reckons as evils may befall a good man/ The same Theophrastus 
is found fault with by all the books and schools of the philosophers, for 
commending that sentence in his Callisthenes : 

Fortune, not wisdom, rules the life of man. 
They say never did philosopher assert any thing so languid. They arc right 
indeed in that ; but I do not apprehend any thing could be more consist- 
ent; for if there are so many good things that depend on the body so many 
foreign to it that depend on chance and fortune is it not consistent that 
fortune, who governs every thing, but what is foreign and what belongs to 
the body, has greater power than counsul ? Or would we rather imitate 
Epicurus ? who is often excellent in many things which he speaks, but 
quite indifferent how consistent, or to the purpose. He commends spare 
diet, and in that ho speaks as a philosopher ; but it is for Socrates or An- 
tisthenes to say so, not one who confines all good to pleasure. He denies 
that any one can live pleasantly, unless he lives honestly, wisely, and 
justly. Nothing is more serious than this, nothing more becoming a phil- 
_* l>a d he not applied thi. v., #± to live i.one.tl, jostle, a,K, 



Q& THE TtTSCULAff ClSPttATIOSS 

wisely, to pleasure. What better, than that fortune interferes but little 
with a wise man ? But doth he talk thus, who had said that pain is the 
greatest evil, or the only evil, and who might be afflicted with the sharp- 
est pains all over his body, even at the time he is vaunting himself the 
most against fortune? Which very thing, too, Metrodorus has said, but 
in better language: "I have prevented you, Fortune ; I have caught you 
and cut off every access, so that you cannot possibly reach me." Thi* 
would be excellent in the mouth of Aristo the Chian, or Zeno the Stoic,, 
who held nothing to be an evil but what was base ; but for you, Metrodo- 
rus, to prevent the approaches of fortune, who confine all that is good to 
your bowels and marrow; you, who define the chief good by a firm habit 
of body, and a well assured hope of its continuance,— for you to cut off 
every access of fortune ? Why, you may instantly be deprived of that 
good. Yet the simple are taken with these, and from such sentences great 
is the crowd of their followers. 

X. But it is the duty of one who disputes accurately, to see not what is 
said, but what is said consistently. As in the opinion which is the subject 
of this disputation ; I maintain that every good man is always happy : it is 
clear what I mean bj good men : I call those buth wise and good men, who are 
provided and adorned with every virtue. Let us see then who are to be called 
happy. I imagine, indeed, those r who are po sse ss ed of good without any allay 
of evil: nor is there any other notion connected with the word that express- 
es happiness, but an absolute enjoyment of good without any evil. Air- 
tue cannot attain this, if there is any thing gped bssidea itself: fora crowd 
of evils would present themselves, if we allow poverty, obscurity, humili- 
ty, solitude, the loss of friends, acute pains of the body, the loss of health, 
weakness, blindness,, the ruin of one's country, banishment, slavery, to be 
evils: for, to conclude, a wise man may be all these and many others: for 
they are brought on by chance, which may attack a -wise man : but if 
these are evils, who can maintain a wise man to lie always happy, when 
all these may light on him at the same time? I therefore do not easily 
agree with my Brutus, nor our common masters, nor those ancient ones. 
Aristotle, Speusippus, Xenoerates, Polemon, who reckon all that I have 
mentioned above as evils, and yet they say that a wise man is always 
happy : who, if they are charmed with this beautiful and illustrious title, 
which would very well become Pythagoras, S and Plato, they 

should be persuaded, that Strength, health, beauty., riches, honors, power, 
with the beauty of which they are ravished, are contemptible, and that all 
those things which art the opposite? of these are not I led. Their 

might they declare openly, with a loud voice, that neither the attacks of 
fortune, nor the opinion of the multitude, nor pain, nor poverty, occasion 
them any apprehensions : and that they have every thing within them- 
selves, and they hold nothing to be good but what is within their own 
power. Xor can I by auy means allow the same person who falls into 
the vulgar opinion of good and evil, to make use of these expressions, 
which can only become a great and exalted man. Struck with which 
glory, up-starts Epicurus, who, with submission to the gods, thinks a wise 



of cicero.. yu 

man always happy. He is much taken with the dignity of this opinion 
but he never would have owned that, had he attended to .himself : for 
wkat is there more inconsistent, than for one who could say that pain wag 
the greatest or the only evil, to think that a wise man should say in the 
midst of his- torture, How sweet is this! We are not therefore to form 
our judgment of philosjphers from detached sentences, but from their 
consistency with themselves, and their common manner of talking. 

XI. A. You engage me to be of your opinion ; but have a care that you 
are not inconsistent yourself, tf. By what means? A. Because I have late- 
ly read your fourth book on Good and Evil-: in that you appeared to me, 
when disputing against Cato, to have endeavored to shew, which with me 
is to prove, that Zeno aud the Peripatetics differ only about some new 
words ; which allowed, what reason can there be, if it follows from the 
arguments of Zeno, that virtue contains all that is necessary to a happy life, 
that the Paripatetics should not be at liberty to say the same? For, in my 
opinion, regard should be had to the tiling, not to words. M. What? you 
would convict me from my owe words, and bring against me what I 
fcad said or written elsewhere. You may act in that manner with those 
who dispute by established rules: we live from hand to mouth, and 
•ay any thing that strikes our mind with probability, so that we are on- 
ly at liberty. But because I just now spoke of consistency, I do not think 
the inquiry m this place is, if Zeno's and his hearer Aristo's opinion be 
true, that nothing is good but what is honest ; but, admitting that, then, 
whether the whole of a happy life can be rested on virtue alone. Where- 
fore if we certainly grant Brutus this, that a wise man is always happy, how 
consistent he is, is his business : for who indeed is more worthy than him- 
self of the glory of that opinion ? Still we may maintain that the same 
is most happy ; though Zeno of Citium, a stranger and a mean coiner of 
words, has insinuated himself into the old philosophy. 

XII. Yet the prevalence of this opinion is due to the authority of Pla- 
to, who often makes use of this expression, "that nothing but virtue can 
he entitled to the name of good :" agreeably to what Socrates saith in 
Piato's Gorgias, when one asked him, if he did not think Archelaus the 
sou of Perdiccas, who was then looked on as the most fortunate person, 
a very happy man ? " I do not know," replied he, " for I never conversed 
with him. What, is there no other way you can know it by? None at 
all. You cannot then pronounce of the great king of the Persians, wheth- 
er he is happy or not? How can I, when I do not know how learned or good a 
man he is ? What I Bo you look on a happy life to depend on that ? My opin- 
ion entirely is, that good men are happy, and the wicked miserable. Is 
Archelaus then miserable ? Certainly, if unjust." Now dothit not appearto 
jou, that he placed the whole of a happy life in virtue alone ? But what 
doth the same say in his funeral oration? "For," saith he, "whoever 
has every thing that relates to a happy life so compact within himself, as 
not to be connected with the good or bad fortune of another, and not to 
depend on what befalls another, or be under any uncertainty, such a one 
has acquired the best rule of living : this is that moderate, that brave, 



100 TUB TU3CULAN DISPUTATIONS 

that wise man, who submits to the gain and loss of every thing, and es- 
peeially of his children, and obeys that old precept : so as never to be too 
joyful or too sad, because he depends entirely upon himself. " 

XIII. From Plato therefore all my discourse shall be deduced, as it 
were, from some sacred and hallowed fountain. Whence can I then more pro- 
perly begin, than from nature, the parent of all? For -whatsoever she pro- 
duces, not only of the animal sort, but even of the vegetable, she dee 
it to be perfect in its respective kind. So that among trees, and vines, and 
those lower plants and trees, which cannot advance themselves higher 
from the earth, some are ever green ; others are stripped of their leaves in 
winter, and, warmed by the spring season, put them out afresh ; and there 
are none of them but Avhat are so quickened by a certain interior motion, 
and their own seeds inclosed in every one, so as to yield flowers, fruit, or 
berries, that all may have every perfection that beiongSj to it, provided 
no violence prevents it. But the force of nature itself may be mon 
]y discovered in animals, as she has bestowed sense on them. For those 
animals that can swim she designed inhabitants of the water : those that 
fly, to expatiate in the sir; ping, some walking : of these vcry 

animals some are solitary, some herding together; some wild, others tame, 
some hidden and covered by the earth: and every one of these maintains 
the law of nature, confining itself to what was bestowed on it, and unable to 
change its manner of life. And as every animal has from nature something 
that distinguishes it. which every die maintains and never <piits ; so man 
has something far more excellent, though every thing is said to excel by 
comparison. But the human mind, as derived from the divine reason, 
can be compared with nothing but the Deity itself, if I may be allowed 
the expression. This then, when improved, and its perception so pre- 
served, as not to be blinded by error- - ;i perfect understanding, 
that is, absolute reason: which is the very same as virtue. And it 
thing is happy which wants nothing, and is complete and perfect in it* 
kind, and that is the peculiar lot of virtue : certainly all who are ] 
ed of virtue are happy. And in this I agree with Brutus, even with Aris- 
totle, Xenocratos, Bpeusippus, Polemon. To me such only appear com- 
pletely happy: for what can he want to a complete happy life, who relies 
on his own good qualities, or how can he be happy who doth not rely on 
them. 

XIV. But he who makes a threefold division of goods. mu<t nocossarily 
be diffident: for how can he depend on having a sound body, or that his 
fortune shall continue? but no one can be happy without an immovable 
fixed, and permanent good. What then is this opinion of theirs? So that 
I think that saving of the Spartan may he applied to them. wl 
merchant's boasting before him, that he could despatch ships to every 
maritime coast, replied, that a fortune which depended on rop 
very desirable. Tan there be any doubt that whatever may be lost, can- 
not be of the number of those things which complete a happy lit*? for of 
all that constitutes a happy life, nothing will admit of growing old, of 
wearing out or decaying; for whoever is apprehensive of any ! 



OF CICERO. 101 

cannot be happy: fcha happy mm should be safs, we'll fetse I, well 
fortified, out of tho roach of all annoyance ; not under trifling appre- 
hensions, but void of all. As ho is not called innocent who but slightly 
offends, but who offends not at all: so is hi only to bj hell without fear, 
Hot who is" in but little fear, but who is void of all fear. For what else U 
courage but an affection of mind, that is ready to undergo perils, as well 
as to bear pain and labor without any allay of fear? Now this certainly 
could not be the case, if any thing were good but what depended on hon- 
esty alone. But howcan any one be in possession of that desirable and much 
requested security (for I now call a freedom from anxiety a security, on 
which freedom a happy life depends) who has, or may have, a multitude 
of evils attending him? How can he be brave, and undaunted, and hold 
every thing as trifles which can befall a man, for so a wise man should 
do, but who thinks every thing depends on himself? Could the Lacede- 
monians without this, when Philip threatened to prevent all their at- 
tempts, have asked him, if he could prevent their killing themselves! Is 
it not easier then to find a man of such a spirit as we inquire after, than 
to meet with a whole city of such men ? Now, if to this courage I am 
speaking of, we add temperance, that governs all our commotions, what 
can be wanting to complete his happiness who is secured by his courage 
from uneasiness and fear; and is prevented from immoderate desires, and 
immoderate insolence of joy, by temperance? I could shew virtue able to 
effect these, but that I have explained on the foregoing days, 
XV. But as the perturbations of the mind make life miserable, and tran- 
quility renders it happy : and as these perturbations are of two sorts; 
grief and fear, proceeding from imagined evils, immoderate joy and lust, from 
the mistake of what is good ; and all these are in opposition to reason and 
counsel ; when you see a man at ease, quite free and disengaged from 
such troublesome commotions, which are so much at variance with one 
another, can you hesitate to pronounce such a one a happy man ? Now 
the wise man is always in such a disposition : therefore the wise man is 
always happy. Besides, every good is pleasant; whatever is pleasant 
may be boasted and talked of; whatever is so, is glorious ; but whatever 
is glorious is certainly laudable, whatever is laudable doubtless, too, hon- 
est ; whatever then is good, is honest. But what they reckon good, they 
themselves do not call honest : therefore what is honest alone is good. 
Hence it follows that a happy life is comprised in honesty alone. Such 
things then are not to be called or held for goods, amidst the abundance 
of which a man may be most miserable. Is there any doubt but that one 
who enjoys the best health, has strength, beauty, has his senses in their 
utmost quickness and perfection ; suppose him likewise, if you please, 
nimble and alert, nay, give him riches, honors, authority, power, glory ; 
now, I say, should this person, who is in possession of all these, be un- 
just, intemperate, timid, stupid, or an idiot ; could you hesitate to call 
.such a one miserable? What then are those goods, in the possessing 
which you may bo very miserable ? Lotus see then if a happy life is not made 
up of parts of the same nature, as a heap implies a quantity of grain of 



102 THE TUSCULAN IMPUTATIONS 

the ss.ni? kin 1. Which admitted, happiness must be compounded of goods, 
which alone are honest; if there is any mixture of things of another sort 
with these, nothing honest can proceed from such a composition : now, 
take away honesty, how can you imagine any thing happy? For whatev- 
er is good is desirable on that account: whatever is desirable must cer- 
tainly be approved of: whatever you approve of must be looked on as ac- 
ceptable and welcome. You must consequently assign dignity to this ; 
and if so, it must necessarily be laudable ; therefore every thing that is 
laudable, is good. Hence it follows, that honesty is the only good. Should 
we not look on it in this light, we must call a great many thing; good. 

XVI. Not to mention riches, which, as any one, let him be ever so un- 
worthy, may have them, I do not reckon amongst goods, fur g tod is not at- 
tainable by all. I pass over notoriety, and popular fame, raised by the 
united voice of knaves and fuels: even things which are ab- >!u: • nothings, 
may be called goods : as white teeth, handsome eyee complexion 

And what was coma aided by Euryclea when she was washing Ulysses's feet, 
;the softness of his skin, ami the mildness of his discourse. If yon look on 
tth -s .■ a< goads, what greater enc nainmscanthe gravity of a philosopher be 
.entitled to, than the wild opinion of the vulgar, and the thoughtless crowd? 
The .Stoics give fcha nam • of excel! -nt and cfa >ic • t » what the others call 

good: they call them so ind 1: but they do not allow them to complete 

a happy life : but these think there is SM life happy without them ; or, admit- 
ting it to be happy, they deny it to be tic moat happy. But our opinion 
li<, that it is the most happy: and we prove it from that conclusion 
•crates. For thus that author of philosophy argued: that as the dU 
rtion of a man's mind is. so is the man: such as the man is. such will be 
his discourse: his actions will correspond with his discourse, and his life 
with his actions. But the disposition of a good man's mind is laudable, 
she life therefore of * good man is laudable: it is honest therefore, be- 
«au*e laudable : th? inference from which is, that th? life of gx>d men is 
happy. For. good g ds1 did I not make it appear, by my former dispu- 
tations, — »r was I only amusing myself and killing time, in what I then 
said, — that the mind of a wise man was always free from every hasty motion, 
which I call a perturbation ? A temperate man then, constant, without 
fear or grief, without any immoderate joy or desire, cannot be otherwise 
than happy : but a wise man is always so : therefore always happy. Why 
then cannot a good man make every thing he thinks, or doth, regard what 
ds laudable? For he has respect in every thing to living happily : a hap- 
py life then is laudable: but nothing is laudable without virtue; a happy 
Rife then is the effect of virtue. 

XVII, The inference is ma de too in this manner. A wicked life has 
nothing to be spoken of nor gloried in : nor has that life, which is neither 
.happy not miserable. But there is a kind of life that admits of being 
.spokea of and gloried in. and boasted of. as Epaminondas saith, 

The wings of Sparta's pride my counsels dipt. 
'Thus Africanus : 

Who., from beyond Ma?otis. to the place 



OF CICERO. JOo 

Where the sun rises, deeds like mine can trace ? 
If then there is such a thing as a happy life, it is to be gloried in, spoken 
of, and commended by the person who enjoys it : but there is nothing, ex- 
cepting that, which can be spoken of, or gloried in ; which admitted, fou 
know whit follows. Xow unless an honorable life is a happy life, there 
must of course be something preferable to a happy life. For they will cer- 
tainly grant honor to harve the preference. Thus there will be somethingbet- 
iSer than a happy life:' than which what can be more absurd ? What ? When 
they grant vice to be effectual to the rendering life Miserable, must they 
not admit the same force to be in virtue to the making it happy ! For 
contraries follow from contraries. And here I ask., what they think of 
Critolaus's balance ? who, having put the goods of the mind into on© 
scale, and the goods of the body and other external advantages into the 
other, tnought the goods of the mind so to outweigh them, as to outbal- 
ance even the earth and sea. 

XVIII. What hinders then that gravest of philosophers, and Xenocrates 
too, who raises virtue so high, and who lessens and depreciates every 
thing else, from not only placing a happy life, but the happiest, in virtue ? 
which were it not so, virtue would be absolutely lost. For whoever is 
subject to grief, mast necessarily be subject to fear too ; for fear is an 
Uneasy apprehension of future grief: and whoever is subject to fear, 
is liable to dread, timidity, consternation, cowardice. Therefore such a 
one may some time or other be over forward, nor think himself concerned 
With that precept of Atreus. 

Through, his whole life a stranger to defeat. 
But sueL a one as I saicJ will be defeated, and not only defeated, but made 
as slave of. But we would have virtue always free, always invincible- 
and were it not so, there would be an end of virtue. But if virtue hath 
in herself all that is necessary for a good Mfe, she is certainly sufficient 
for happiness: virtue is- certainly sufficient too for our living with courage p 
if with courage, then with a great mind, and indeed so as never to be 
under any fear, and thus to be always invincible. Hence it follows, that 
there can be nothing to be repented of, no wants, no lets or hinderances.- 
Thus all things must be prosperous,- perfect, and as you would have them ; 
and consequently happy ; but virtue is sufficient for living with courage, 
and therefore able to make your life happy. For as folly, even when 
possessed of what it desires, never thinks it has acquired enough : so-' 
wisdom is always satisfied with the present, and never repents on her own 
account. Look but on the single consulate of Laelius, and that too after" 
having been set aside (though when a wise and good man, like him, is 
outvoted, the people are disappointed of a good consul, rather than he 
disappointed by a vain people) ; but the point is, would you prefer, were 
it in your power, to be once such a consul as Laelius, or be elected four' 
times as Cinna? I am very well satisfied what answer you will make, 
and it is on that account I put the question to you. 

XIX. I will not ask every one this question; for some one perhaps 
might answer, that he would not only prefer four consulates to one,- but 



1C4 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 

even one day of Ciena's life, to ages of many and famous men. Ladius 
would have suffered, had he but touched anyone with his finder; but 
China ordered the head of his colleague < o ;sul Cn. Octavius to he struck 
off; and of P. Crassus and L. Caesar, those excellent men, so renowned 
both at home and abroad. Even M. Antonius, the greatest orator I ever 
heard ; with C. Caesar, who seems to me to have been the pattern of hu- 
manity, politeness, sweetness of temper, and wit. Could he then be hap- 
py wl o ocasioned the death of these ? S> far from it, that he not only 
seems o me miserable for doing thus, but for acting in such a manner,, 
that it was even lawful for him to do it, though it is unlawful fjr any one 
to do wicked actions; but this proceeds from inaccuracy of speech, forwe 
call whatever a man is allowed to do, lawful. Was not Marius happier, 
I pray you, when he shared the glory of the victory he gained oter the Ciuv 
brians with his colleague f'atulus.who was almost another Idelins, (fori look 
upon him as very like,) than, when conqueror in the civil war, he in a 
passion answered the frionds ofCatalue, who were interceding for him, 
" Let him die/' and this he did not once, but often 2 In which he ra 
happier who submitted t i that barbarous decree, than he who issued it. 
And it is better to receive an injury than to do one; so was it better' to 
advance a little to meet that death, that was making its approaches, as 
Catulus did, than, like Marius. to sully the -dory of six consulates, and 
disgrace his latter days by the death of such a man. 

XX. IHonysius exercised his tyranny over the Syracusians thirty-eight 
years, being but twenty-five years old when he seised on the government. 
How beautiful and how wealthy a city did he oppress with slavery! And 
yet we have it from good authority, that he was remarkably temperate in 
his manner of living, that he was very qui<ik and diligent in carrying on 
business, but naturally mischievous and unjust. Whence every one who 
diligently inquires into truth, must necessarily see that he was very n u- 
erablo. Neither did he attain what he so greatly desired, even when he 
Avas persuaded he had unlimited power. For notwithstanding he was of 
a good family and reputable parents, (though that is contested,) and had 
a great acquaintance of intimate friends and relations, he could not trust 
any one of them, but committed the guard of his pen « 
whom he had selected from rich men's families and made free, and to stran- 
gers and barbarians. And thus, through an unjust desire of governing. 
he in a manner shut himself up in a prison. Besides, he would not trust 
his throat to a barber, but had his daughters taught to shave; so that 
these royal virgins were forced to descend to the base and slavish employ- 
ment of shaving the head and beard of their father. Nor would he trust 
even them, when they were grown up. with a rasor: but contrived how 
they might burn oil' the hair of his h ad and beard with red-hot nutshells. 
And as to his two wives, Aristomache his countrywoman, and Doris of 
Locris, he never visited them at uight before every thing had been well 
searched and examined. And as he had surrounded the place where his 
bed was with a broad ditch, ami made a w.i\ over it with a wooden bri 
he drew that bridge over, after shutting his bedchamber doer. An 



OF OICEHO. 105 

he did riot dare to stand where they usually harangued, he gericrally ad- 
dressed the people from a high tower. And it is said, that when he" was 
disposed to play at tennis, for he delighted much in it, and had pulle'd off 
his clothes, he used to give his sword into the keeping of a young man 
whom he' was very fond of. On this one of his intimates said pleasantly, 
*' You certainly trust your life with him:" the young man happening to 
smile at this, he ordered them both to be slain ; the one for shewing how 
lie might be taken off, the other for approving; of what was said by his 
smiling. But he was so concerned at what he had done, that nothing af- 
fected him iriore daring his whole life : for he had slain one he was extremely 
partial to. Thus do weak men's desires pull them different ways, and 
whilst they indulge one, they act counter to another; This tyrant howev- 
er, showed how happy he esteemed himself; 

XXI. For whilst Damocles, one of his flatterers,- was talking in conver- 
sation about his forces, his wealth, the greatness of his power, the plenty 
lie enjoyed, the grandeur of his royal palaces, and was maintaining that 
no one was ever happier; "Have you an inclination," saith he, "Damo- 
cles, as this kind of life pleases you, to have a taste of it yourself, and try 
to make a trial of the good fortune that attends me ?" " I should be glad 
to make the experiment," says Damocles : upon which Dionysius ordered 
him to be laid on a bed of gold, with the most beautiful covering, embroi- 
dered, and wrought in a high taste, and he dressed out a great many side- 
boards with silver and embossed gold. He then ordered some youths* 
distinguished for their handsome persons, to wait at his table* and to observe 
his nod, in order to serve him with what he wanted. There were ointments 
and garlands ; perfumes were burned ; tables provided with the most exquisite 
meats. Damocles thought himself very happy. In the midst of this ap- 
paratus Dionysius ordered a bright sword to be let down from the ceiling, 
tied by a horsehair, so as to hang over the head of that happy man. Af- 
ter which he neither cast his eye on those handsome waiters, nor on tho 
well-wrought plate : nor touched any of the provisions ; the garlands fell 
to pieces. At last he entreated the tyrant to give him leave to go, for that 
now he had no desire to be happy. Doth not Dionysius, then, seem to have 
declared there can be no happiness with one who is under constant ap- 
prehensions ? But he was not now at liberty to return to justice, and re- 
store his citizens their right and privileges ; for by the indiscretion of 
youth he had engaged in so many wrong steps, and committed such ex- 
travagancies, that had he attempted to have returned to a right way of 
thinking, he must have endangered his life. 

XXII. Yet how desirous he was of those very friends whose fidelity he 
dreaded, appears from the two Pythagoreans : one of these had been se- 
curity for his friend, who was condemned to die ; the other, to release his 
security, presented himself at the time appointed for his dying: "I wish," 
said Dionysius, "you would admit me as a third." What misery was it 
for him to be deprived of acquaintance, of company at his table, and of 
the freedom of conversation ; especially for one who was a man of learn- 
ing, and from his childhood acquainted with liberal arts, very fond of mu- 

15 






1Q(T the tuscula:* disputations 

sic, and himself a tragedian ; how good a one is not to the purpose, fur I 
know not how it is, bat in this way, more than any other, every one 
thinks his own performances excellent; I never as yet knew any poet (and 
Aquinius was my friend) who did not give himself the preference. The 
case is this, you are pleased with your own, I like mine. Bat to return 
to Dionysius: he debarred himself from all civil and polite conversation 
spent his life among fugitives, bondmen, and barbarians: for he wa 
suaded no one could be his friend, who was worthy of liberty, or had the 
least desire of being free. Shall I not then prefer the life of Plato and 
Archytas, manifestly wise and learned men, to his, than which nothing 
can possibly be more horrid and miserable ? 

XXIII. I will present you with an humble and obscure mathematician 
of the same city, called Archimedes, who lived many years after ; whose 
tomb, overgrown with shrubs and briars, I in my qusestorship discovered, 
when the Syracusians knew nothing of it, and even denied that there was 
any such thing remaining: for I remembered - iiich I had 

been informed were engraved on his monument. These get forth, that 
on the top of it there was placed a sphere with a cylinder. "When I had 
carefully examined all the monuments (for there area great many) at the 
gate Achradina\ I observed a small column standing out a little above 
the briars, with a figure of a sphere and a cylinder upon it ; whereupon 
I immediately said to the Syracusianf for then me of their prin- 

cipal magistrates there, that I imagined that was what I was inquiring 
for. Several nun '>< ing sent i:i with scythes, cleared the way. and made 
an opening for us. When we could get at it, and were come near to the 
front base of it, 1 found the inscription, though the latter parts of all the 

- were effaced timoet half away. Thus one of the noblest cH 
Greece, and once, likewise, the most learned, had known nothing of the 
monument of its most ingenious citizens, if it had not been discovered to 
them by a native of Arpinum. But to return from whence I have ram- 
bled. Who is there in the bust acquainted with the Muses, that is, with 
liberal knowledge, or that deals at all in learning, who would not ©house 
to be this mathematician rather than that tyrant? If we look into their 
methods of living and their employments, we shall find the mind of the 
one strengthened and improved, with tracing the deductions of r 
amused with hisown ingenuity, the m •!< f the mind; the thoughts 

of the other engaged in continual murders and injuries, in constant fears 
by night and by day. Xow imagine a Demoeritus, a Pythagoras, and an 
Anaxagoras ; what kingdom, what riches, would you prefer to their stu- 
dies and amusements ? for you must necessarily look there for the 
every thing, where the excellency of man is; but what is there better in 
man than a sagacious and good mind? Now the enjoying of thai 
can alone make us happy: but virtue is the good of the mind: it follows, 
therefore, that a happy life depends on that. Hence proceed all things 
that are beautiful, honest, and excellent, as I said above: but tl. 
think, must be treated of more at large, for they are well stored with joys . 
For as it is clear that a happy life consists in perpetual and unexhausted 



OF CICERO. 107 

pleasures, it follows too that a happy life must arise from honesty. 

XXIV. But that what I propose to demonstrate to you may not rest in 
mere words only, I must set before you the picture of something, as it 
were, living and moving in the world, that may dispose us more for the 
improvement of the understanding and real knowledge. Let us then pitch up- 
onsome man perfectly acquainted with the most excellent arts ; letus present 
him for a while to our own thoughts, and figure him to our own imaginations. 
In the first place, he must necessarily be of an extraordinaiw capacity ; for 
virtue is not easily connected with dull minds. Next, he must have a 
great desire of discovering truth, from whence will arise that threefold 
production of the mind: one depends on knowing things, and explaining 
nature ; the other in defining what we should desire, and what avoid ; 
the third in judging of consequences and impossibilities: in which con- 
sists as well subtilty in disputing, as clearness of judgment. Now with 
what pleasure must the mind of a wise man be affected, which continual- 
ly dwells in the midst of such cares and engagements as these, when he 
views tbe revolutions and motions of the whole world, and sees those in- 
numerable stars in the heavens, which, though fixed in their places, yet 
have a common motion with the whole ; and observes the seven other stars, 
some higher, some lower, each maintaining their own course, while their 
motions, though wandering, have limited and appointed spaces to run 
through ! The sight of which doubtless urged and encouraged those an- 
cient philosophers to employ their search on many other things. Hence arose 
an inquiry after the beginnings, and, as it were, seeds from whence all 
things were produced and composed ; what was the origin of every kind, 
as well animate as inanimite, articulate as inarticulate ; what occasioned 
their beginning and end, and by what alteration and change one thing 
was converted into another : whence the earth, and by what weights it 
was balanced : by what caverns the seas were supplied : by what gravity 
all tilings being carried down tend always to the middle of the world, 
which in any round body is the lowest place! 

XXV. A mind employed on such subjects, and which night and day 
contemplates on them, has in itself that precept of the Delphic god, to "know 
itself," and to perceive its connexion with the divine reason, from whence 
it is filled with an insatiable joy. For reflections on the power and na- 
ture of the gods raise a desire of imitating their eternity. Nor doth the 
naind, that sees the necessary dependencies and connexions that one cause 
has with another, thinks itself confinable to the shortness of this life. Those 
causes, though they proceed from eternity to eternity, are governed by 
reason and understanding. Whoever beholds these and examines them, 
or rather whose view takes in all the parts and boundaries of things, with 
what tranquility of mind doth he look on all human affairs, and what is 
nearer him ! Hence proceeds the knowledge of virtue ; hence arise the 
kinds and species of virtues; hence is discovered what nature regards as 
the bounds and extremities of good and evil, to what all duties have res- 
pect, and which is the most eligible manner of life. One great effect that 
arises from informing himself of these, and b:i-.j 1 .iko things, is, that vir- 



108 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 

tue is of itself sufficient to a happy life, which is the subject of this dispu- 
tation. 

The third qualification of our -wise man comes next, which goes through 
and spreads itself over every part of wisdom ; it is that whereby we define 
every particular thing, distinguish the genus from its species, connect com 
sequences, draw just conclusions, and distinguish true and false, which 
is the very art and science of disputing ; which is not only of the greatest 
use in the examination of what passes in the world, but is likewise the 
most rational entertainment, and most becoming true wisdom. Such arc 
its effects in retirement. Now let our wise man be considered as protect- 
ing the republic ; what can be more excellent than such a character ? By 
his prudence he will discover the true interests of his fellow-citizens, by 
his justice he will be prevented from applying what belongs to the pub- 
lic to his own use; and, in short, ho will be ever governed by all the virtues, 
which are many and various. To these let us add the advantage of his 
friendships ; in which the learned reckon not only a natural harmony and 
agreement of sentiments throughout the conduct of life, but the utmost 
pleasure and satisfaction in conversing and passing our time constantly 
with one another. What can be wanting to such a life as this, to make 
it more happy than it is ? Fortune herself must yield to a life stored with 
such joys. Now if it be a happiness to rejoice in such goods of the mind, 
that is, virtue, and all wise men enjoy thoroughly these pleasures ; it must 
necessarily be granted, that all such are hap] 

XXVI. A, "What, when in torments and on the rack? M. Do you ima- 
gine I am speaking of him as laid on roses and violets '.' Is it allowable 
even for Epicurus (who only affects being a philosopher, and who assum- 
ed that name to himself) to say, and, as matters stand, I commend him 
for his saying, a wise man may at all times cry out, though he be burn- 
ed, tortured, cut to pieces, How little I regard it ! Shall this be said by 
one who defines all evil by pain, every good by pleasure ; who could ridi- 
cule whatever we say either of what is honest, or what is base, and could 
declare of us that we were employed about words, and discharging mere 
empty sounds ; and that nothing is to be regarded, but as it is perceived 
Binooth or rough by the body? What, shall such a man as this 
whose understanding is little superior to the beasts, be at liberty to for- 
get himseif; and not only despise fortune, when the whole of his good and evil is 
in the power of fortune, but say, that he is happy in the moat racking 
torture, when he had actually declared pain not only the greatest evil, 
but the only one ? And all this without havh _ 

for bearing pain, such as firmness of mind, a shame of doing any thing 
base, exercise, and the habit of patience, precepts of courage, and a man* 
ly hardiness : but saith he supports himself on a single recollection 
pleasure : as if any one, being so hot as scarce to be able to bear it, should at- 
tempt to recollect thai he was once in my oototry Arpinum, where he 
was surrounded on every side by cooling stre'Whs ; for I do not apprehend 
how past pleasures can allay present evils. But when he saith that a 
wise man ia always happy, who has no right to s;iy so, can he be consist- 



OF CICERO. 109 

cnt wkh himself? What may they not do, who allow nothing to bo desir- 
able, nothing to be looked on as good, but what is honest? Let then the 
Peripatetics and old Academics follow my example, and at length leave 
off" to mutter to themselves: and openly, and with a clear voice, let them 
be bold to say, that a happy life may descend into Phalaris's bull. 

XXVII. But to dismiss the subtleties of the Stoics, which I am sensi- 
ble I have dealt more in than necessary, let us admit of three kinds of 
goods: let them really be the three kinds of goods, provided no regard is 
had to the body, and externals,' as no otherwise entitled to the appellation 
of good, than as we are obliged to use them : but let those other and di- 
vine goods spread themselves far and near, and reach the very heavens. 
"Why then may I not call him happy, nay, the happiest, who has attain- 
ed them ? Shall a wise man be afraid of pain ? which is, indeed, the great- 
est enemy to our opinion. For I am persuaded we are not-prepared and for- 
tified sufficiently, by the disputations of the foregoing days, against our own 
death or the death of our friends, against grief and the other perturbations of 
the mind. Pain seems to be the sharpest adversary of virtue, that threatens 
us with burning torches : that threatens to take down our fortitude, greatness 
of mind, and patience. Shall virtue then yield to this ? Shall the happy life 
of a wise and constant man submit to this? Good gods ! how base would this 
be? Spartan boys will bear to have their bodies torn by rods, without uttering 
a groan. I myself saw, at Laeedsemon, troops of young men, with great 
-earnestness contending together with their hands and feet, with their 
teeth and nails, nay, even ready to expire, rather than own themselves 
conquered. Is any country more savagely barbarous than India? Yet they 
have amongst them some that are held for wise men, who never wear any 
clothes all their life long, and bear the snow of Caucasus, and the pier- 
cing cold of winter, without any pain ; and will throw themselves into 
the fire to be burned without a groan. The women too in India, on the 
death of their husbands, apply to the judge to have it determined which 
of them was best beloved by him : for it is customary there for one man 
to have many wives. She in whose favor it is determined, attended by 
her relations, is laid on the pile with her husband: the others, who are 
postponed, walk away very much dejected. Custom can never be superi- 
or to nature : for nature is never to be got the better of. But our mind? 
are infected by sloth and idleness, delicacies, languor, and indolence : we 
.have 'enervated them by opinions, and bad customs. Who but knows 
the manner of the Egyptians ? Their minds being tainted by pernicious 
opinions, they are ready to bear any torture, rather than hurt an ibis, a 
snake, cat, dog, or crocodile : and should any one inadvertently have hurt 
any of these, they submit to any punishment. So far of human nature. 
As to the beasts, do they not bear cold, hunger, running about in woods, and 
on mountains and deserts ? Will they not fight for their young ones till 
they are wounded ? Are Wrey afraid of any attacks or blows ? I mention 
not what the ambitious will suffer for honor's sake, or those who are de- 
sirous of praise on account of glory, or lovers to gratify their lust. Life is 
full of such instances. 



110 THE TUSCULAX DISPUTATIONS 

XXVIII. Bat not to dwell too much on these, and to return to oar pur- 
pose. I say, and say again, that happiness will submit even to be tor- 
mented ; and after having accompanied justice, temperance, but princi- 
pally fortitude, greatness of soul and patiencs will not stop short at sight 
of the executioner; and when all other virtues proceed calmty to the 
torture, wil^ that halt, as I said, on the outside and threshold of the 
prison ? fur what can be baser, -what can carry a worse appearance, than 
to be left alone, separated from those beautiful attendants ? which can by 
no means be the case : for neither can the virtues hold together without 
happiness, nor happiness without the virtues : so that thej will not suffer 
her to desert them, but will carry that along with them, to whatever tor- 
ments, to whatever pains they are led. For it is the peculiar quality of 
a wise man to do nothing, that he may repent of nothing against his incli- 
nation : but always to act nobly, with eonstaney, gravity, and honesty : to de- 
pend on nothing as certain : to wonder at nothing, when it falls out. as if it 
appeared new and unexpected to him: to 1 lent of every one, and 
abide by his own opinion. For my part, I cannot form an idea of any thing 
happier than this. The conclusion oi indeed i- easy, as they are 
persuaded that the end of good i- to liv agreeably to nature, and b 
sistcnt with that : as a \\ ise man should do so, not only because it is his du- 
ty, but beoause h is in his power. It must of course follow, that whoev- 
er has the chief good in his power, has his happiness so too. Thus the 
life of a wise man is always happy. Yon have here what I think may be 
confidently said of a happy life, ami as things arc now, very truly, unless 
you can advance somethin : 

XXIX. J. Indeed I cannot: but I would willingly request of you, un- 
is troublesome, (as yon are under no confinement from obligations 

to any particular sect, hut gather from all of them whatever most strikes 
you with the appearance of probability,) as you just now seemed to advise 
the Peripatetics, and the old Academy, boldly to speak out without re- 
serve, 4> that wise men are always the happiest, 1 ' 1 should be glad to hear 
how you think it consistent for them . when yon have said so 

much against that opinion, and the conclusions of tl Jf I will 

make use then of that liberty, which none but ourselves ha\ e the privii 
using in philosophy, whose discourses determine nothing, but take in ev- 
ery thing, leaving them, unsupported by any authority, to bejudgedofby 
others, according to their weight. And as you seem desirous I 1 knowing 
why, notwithstanding the different opinion oi' philosophers, with : 
to the ends of goods, virtue may have sufficient security for a happy life: 
which security, as we are informed, Carneades used indeed to dis 
against: but he disputed as against t whose opinions he combat- 

ed with great zeal and vehemence : but I shall handle it with more tem- 
per: for if the Stoics have rightly settled I Is, the affair is 
at an end ; for a wise man must necessarily be always happy. But let us 
examine, if we can. the particular opinions of the others, that this excel- 
lent decision, if I may so call it, of a happy life, may be agreeable to the 
opinions and discipline of all. 



OF CICERO. HI 

XXX. These then are the opinions, as I think, that are held and de- 
fended : the first four simple ones ; " that nothing is good but what is hon- 
est," according to the Stoics: "nothing good but pleasure." as Epicurus 
maintains: "nothing good but a freedom from pain," as Hieronymus as- 
serts : " nothing good but an enjoyment of the principal, or all, or the 
greatest goods of nature," as Carneades maintained against the Stoics: 
these are simple, the others mixed. Three kinds of goods : the greatest 
those of the mind, the next those of the body. The third were external 
goods, as the Peripatetics say, and the old Academics differ very little 
from them. Clitomacbus ami Callipho have coupled pleasure with hon- 
esty : but Diodorus, the Peripatetic, has joined indolence to honesty. These 
are the opinions that have some footing: for those of Aristo, Phyrrho, 
Ilerillus, and of some others, are quite out of date. Now let us see what 
they have of weight in them, excepting the Stoics, whose opinion I think 
I have sufficiently defended : and indeed I have explained what the Peri- 
patetics have to say : excepting that Theophrastus, and those who follow- 
ed him, dread and abhor pain in too weak a manner. The others may 
go on to exaggerate the gravity and dignity of virtue, as usual ; which 
when they have extolled to the skies, with the usual extravagance of good 
orators, it is easy to reduce the other to nothing by comparison, and to- 
despise them. They who think praise is to be acquired by pain, are not 
at liberty to deny those to be happy who have acquired it. Though they 
may be under some evils, yet this name of happy extends very widely. 

XXXI. Even as trading is said to be lucrative, and farming advanta- 
geous, not because the one never meets with any loss, or theother no dam- 
age from the inclemency of the weather, but because they succeed in gen- 
eral : so life may be properly called happy, not from its being entirely 
made up of good things, but as it abounds with these to a great and con- 
siderable degree. By this way of reasoning, then, a happy life may at- 
tend virtue even to punishments ; nay, may descend with her into Phalar- 
is's bull, according to Aristotle, Xenocrates, Speusippus, Polemon ; and 
will not be gained over by any allurements to forsake her. Of the same 
opinion will Calliphon and Diodorus be : both of them such friends to vir- 
tue, as to think all things should be discarded and for removed, that are 
compatible with it. The rest seem to be more scrupulous about these 
things, but yet get clear of them ; as Epicurus, Hieronymus, and whoever 
thinks it worth while to defend the deserted Carneades : not one of them 
but thinks the mind to be judge of those goods, and can sufficiently in- 
struct him how to despise what has the appearance only of good or evil. 
For what seems to you to be the case with Epicurus, it is the same with 
Hieronymus and Carneades, and indeed with all the rest of them : for who 
is not sufficiently prepared against death and pain ? I will begin, with 
your leave, with him whom we call soft and voluptuous. What ! doth he 
seem to you to be afraid of death or pain, who calls the day of his death 
happy ; and when affected by the greatest pains, silences them all by re- 
collecting arguments of his own discovering ? And this is not done in 
such a manner as to give room for imagining that he talks thus wildly on 



112 THB TUSCUtAH DISPUTATIONS 

a sudden start : br>t his opinion of death is, that on the dissolution of the 
animal, all sense is lost ; and what is deprived of sense, as he thinks, can 
no way affect us. And as to pain, he has his maxims too : it great, the 
comfort is, that it must be short ; if of long continuance, it must be toler- 
able. What then ? D o those great boasters declare any thing better than 
Epicurus, in opposition to these two things which distress us the most? 
And as to other things, do not Epicurus and the rest of the philosophers 
seem sufficiently prepared ? Who doth not dread poverty ? And yet no 
true philosopher ever can. 

XXXII. But with how little is this man satisfied ? Xo one has said more 
on frugality. For when a man is far removed from those things which 
occasion a desire of money, from love, ambition, or daily exp' 
why should he be fond of money, or concern himself at all about it? Could 
the Scythian Anacharsis disregard money, and shall not our philosophers 
be able to do BO? We are informed of an epistle of his, in these words: 
"Anacharsis to Hanno, greeting. My clothing 

themselves ; the hardness of my feet supplies the wan: .round 

is my bed, hunger my sauce, my food milk, cheese* and flesh. 
may come to a man in no want. But M to those present- you ta 
much pleasure in, you may dispose of them to your own citizens, or to the 
immortal gods." Almost ail the philosophers, whatever their discipline 
be, excepting those who are warped from right reason by a vicious dispo- 
sition, are of this very opinion. Socrates, when he saw in a procession a 
great deal of gold and silver, cried out. "How many things are there I 
do not want!" Xenocrati -, v, Inn -oine ambassadors from Alexander had 
brought him fifty talents, the largest money of those times, especially at 
Athens, carried the ambasi -up in the academy, and pla*-e<l 

sufficiency before them, without any apparatus. When they asked him 
the next day, to whom he would order the money to be told out : w What ?" 
saith he, M did you not perceive by our slight repast of yesterday, that I 
had no occasion for money?" But when he perceived that they were 
somewhat dejected, he accepted of thirty mime, that he might not 
to disrespect the king's generosity. But 1 iter liber- 

ty as a Cynic, when Alexander asked him if he wanted any thing: A 
little from the sun." said he: for Alexander hindered him from sunning 
himself. And indeed this very man used to maintain how much he ex- 
celled the Persian king, in his manner of life and fortune: that he him- 
self was in want of nothing, the other never had enough: that he had no 
inclination for those pleasures whieh could never satisfy the other; and 
that the other could never obtain his. 

XXXIII. You see, 1 imagine, how Epicurus has divided his kii. 
desires, not very subtilely perhaps, but usefully: that they are " partly 
natural and necessary : partly natural, but not necessary ; partly neither.'' 
Those which are necessary may be supplied almost for nothing for the things 
that nature requires are easily obtained. As to the second kind of d< b 
his opinion is, that any one may easily either enjoy or >j:o without them. 
With regard to the third, being' frivolous, as neither allied to necessity 



OF CICERO. 



lis 



Necessity nor nature, he thinks they should be entirely rooted out. On 
this topic the Epicureans dispute much; and those pleasures which they 
do not despise, on account of their species, they reduce one by one, and 
seem rather, for lessening the number of them : for as to wanton pleasures, 
of which they say a great deal, these, say they, are easy, common, and 
within any one's reach ; and think that if nature requires them, they are 
not to be estimated by birth, condition, or rank, but by shape, age, and 
person : and that it is by no means difficult to refrain from them, should 
health, duty, or reputation require it; and that this kind of pleasure may 
be desirable, where it is attended with no inconvenience, but can never 
be of any use. And what he declares upon the whole of pleasure is such 
as shews his opinion to be, that pleasure is always desirable, to be pursu- 
ed merely as a pleasure ; and for the same reason pain is to be avoided, 
because it is pain. So that a wise man will always do himself the justice 
to avoid pleasure, should pain ensue from it in a greater proportion ; and 
will submit to pain, the effects of which will be a greater pleasure : so that 
all pleasureable things, though the corporeal senses are the judges of them, 
are to be referred to the mind, on which account the body rejoices, whilst 
it perceives a present pleasure ; but that the mind not only perceives the 
present as well as the body, but forsees it, whilst it is coming, and, even, when 
it is past, will not let it quite slip away. So that a wise man enjoys a 
continual series of pleasures, uniting the expectations of future pleasure to 
the recollection of what he has already tasted. The like notions are ap- 
plied by them to high living ; and the magnificence and expensiveness of 
entertainments are deprecated, because nature is satisfied at a small ex- 
pense. 

XXXIV. For who doth not see this, that an appetite is the best sauce ? 
When Darius, flying from the enemy, had drunk some water which was 
muddy, and tainted with the dead bodies, he declared that he had never 
drunk any thing more pleasant ; the case was, he had never drunk before 
when he was thirsty. Nor had Ptolemy ever ate when he was hungry : for 
as he was travelling over Egypt, his company not keeping up with him, 
he had some coarse bread presented him in a cottage : upon which he said, 
" Nothing ever seemed to him pleasanter than that bread." They relate 
of Socrates, that once walking very fast till the evening, on his being ask- 
ed why he did so, his reply was, that he was purchasing an appetite by 
walking, that he might sup the better. And do we not see what Lacedae- 
monians provide in their Phiditia ? where the tyrant Dionysius supped, 
but told them he did not at all like that black broth, which was their prin- 
cipal dish ; on this he who dressed it said, " It was no wonder, for it wan- 
ted seasoning." "Dionysius asked what that seasoning was ; to which it 
was replied, fatigue in hunting, sweating, a race on the banks of Eurotas, 
hunger, and thirst:" for these are the seasonings to the Lacedaemonian 
banquets. And this may not only be conceived from the custom of men, 
but from the beasts, who are satisfied with any thing that is thrown be- 
fore them, provided it is not unnatural, and they seek no further. Some 
entire cities, taught by custom, are delighted with parsimony, as I said' 

16 



114 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 

but just now of the Lacedaemonians. Xenophon has given an account of 
the Persian diet ; who never, as he saith, use any thing but cresses with 
their bread, not but that, should nature require any thing more agreeable 
many things might Be easily supplied by the ground, and plants in great 
abundance, and of incomparable sweetness. Add to this, strength and 
health, as the Consequence of this abstemious way of living. Now com- 
pare with those who sweat and belch, crammed with eating like fatted ox- 
en ; then will you perceive that they who pursue pleasure most, attain it 
least ; and that the pleasure of eating lies not in satiety, but appetite. 

XXXV. They report of Timotheus, a famous man at Athens, and the 
head of the city, that having supped with Plato, and being extremely de- 
lighted with his entertainment, on seeing him the next day he said, "Your 
suppers are not only agreeable whilst I partake of them, but the next day 
also." Besides, the understanding is impaired when we are full with over- 
eating and drinking. There is an excellent epistle of Plato to Dion's re- 
lations. It is written almost in these words: ''When I came there, that 
happy life so much talked of, crowded with Italian and Syracusan enter- 
tainments, was no ways agreeable to me ; to be crammed twice a day, and 
never to have the night to yourself, and other things which attend on this 
kind of life, by which a man will never be made the wiser, and may be 
much less moderate ; for it must bo an extraordinary disposition that can 
be temperate in such circumstances." How then can a life be pleasant 
without prudence and moderation ? Hence you discover the mistake of 
Sardanapalus, the wealthiest king of the Assyrians, who ordered it to be 
engraved on his tomb, 

I still possess what luxury did cost ; 

But what I left, though excellent, is lost. 
"What but this," saith Aristotle, " could' be inscribed on the tomb, not 
of a king but an ox V lie said that he possessed those things when dead r 
which, in his lifetime, fie could have no longer than whilst he was enjoy- 
ing them. Why then are riches desired? and wherein doth poverty pre- 
vent us from being happy ? In the want, I imagine, of statues, pictures, 
and diversions. Should any one be delighted with these, have not the 
poor people the enjoyment of these more than they who have them in the 
greatest abundance ? For we havej great numbers of them shown pub- 
lickly in our city. And whatever private people may of them, they have 
not many of them, and they but seldom see them, only when they go to 
their country seats ; and some of them must be stung to the heart when 
they consider how they came by them. The day would fail me, should I 
be inclined to defend the cause of poverty: the thing is manifest, and na- 
ture daily informs us, how few little trifling things she really stands in 
need of. 

XXXVI. Let us inquire, then, if obscurity, the want of power, or even 
the being unpopular, can prevent a wise man from being happy ? Observe 
if popular favor, and this glory which they are so fond of, be not attended 
with more uneasiness than pleasure ? Our Demosthenes was certainly very 
weak in declaring himself pleased with a woman who carried water, as is 



OF CICERO. IIS 

€h e custom in Greece, whispering to another, " that is he, that is Demos- 
thenes." What could be weaker than this? And yet what an orator he 
was ! But although he had learned to speak to others, he had conversed 
but little with himself. We may perceive that popular glory is not desir- 
able of itself ; nor is obscurity to be dreaded. " I came to Athens," saith 
Democritus, " and there was no one there that knew me:" this was a mod- 
erate and grave man, who could glory in his obscurity. Shall musicians 
compose their tunes to their own taste? and shall a philosopher, master 
of a much better art, inquire not after what is most true, but what will 
please the people ? Can any thing be more absurd than to despise the 
vulgar as mere unpolished mechanics, when single, and to think them of 
.consequence when collected into a body ? These wise men would contemn 
our ambitious pursuits, and our vanities, and would reject all honors the 
people could voluntarily offer toihem : but we know not how to despise them, 
till we begin to repent of having accepted them. Heraclitus, the natur- 
al philosopher, relates thus of Hercnodorus, the chief of the Ephesians : 
** that all the Ephesians," saith he, " ought to be punished with death, for 
saying, when they had expelled Hermodorus out of their city, that they 
would have no one amongst them better than another ; if there were any 
such, let him go elsewhere to some other people." Is not this the case 
with the people everywhere ? do they not hate every virtue that distin- 
guishes itself? What? was not Aristides (I had rather instance in the 
Greeks than ourselves) banished his country for being eminently just? 
What troubles, then, are they free from, who have no -connexions with 
the people ! What is more agreeable than a learned retirement ? I speak 
of that learning which makes us acquainted with the boundless extent of 
nature, and the universe, and in this world discovers to us both heaven 
earth, and sea, 

XXXVII. If then honor and riches have no value, what is there else 
to be afraid of? Banishment, I suppose ; which is looked on as the great- 
est evil. Now, if the evil of banishment proceeds not from ourselves, but 
from the froward disposition of the people, I have just now declared how 
contemptible it is. But if to leave one's country be miserable, the prov- 
inces are full of miserable men : very few of those ever return to their 
country again. But exiles are amerced of their goods ! What then ? Has 
there not been enough said on bearing poverty ? But with regard to ban- 
ishment, if we examine the nature of things, not the ignominy of the name, 
how little doth it differ from constant travelling ! in which some of the 
most famous philosophers have spent their whole life : as Xenocrates, 
Crantor, Arcesilas, Lacydes, Artistotle, Theophrastus, Zeno, Cleanthes, 
Ghrysippus, Antipater, Carneades, Panaetius, Clitomachus, Philo, Antio- 
chus, Posidonius, and innumerable others ; who from their first setting 
out never returned home again. Now what ignominy can a wise man be 
affected with, (for of such a one I speak,) who can be guilty of nothing to 
occasion it ; for one who is banished for his deserts ought not to be com- 
forted. Lastly, they can easily reconcile themselves to every accident, who 
make every thing that ensues from life conduce to .pleasure; so that in 



116 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 

whatever place these are supplied, there they may live happily. Thus 
what Teucer said may be applied to every case : 

Wherever I am happy, there is my country. 
Socrates, indeed, when asked where he belonged to, replied, "The world;" 
for he looked upon himself as a citizen and inhabitant of the whole world. 
How was it with T. Altibutius ? Bid he not follow his philosophical stu- 
dies with the greatest satisfaction at Athens, although he was banished? 
which would not have happened to him, if he had obeyed the laws of 
Epicurus, and lived peaceably in the republic. In what was Epicurus 
happier, living in his country, than Metrodorus at Athens ? Or did Plato's 
happiness exceed that of Xenocrates, or Poleme, or Arcesilas ? Or is that 
city to be valued much, that banishes all her good and wise men ? Denia- 
ratus, the father of our king Tarquin, not being able to bear the tyrant 
Cypselus, fled from Corinth to Tarqoinii, settled there, and had children. 
How, was it an unwise act in him to prefer the liberty of banishment to sla- 
very at hoD 

XXXAIII. Besides the emotions of the mind, all griefs and anxieties 
are assuaged by forgetting them, and turning our thoughts to pleasure. 
Therefore it was not without reason that Epicurus presumed to say, that 
a wise man abounds with good things, beoause he may always have his 
pleasures. From whence, as he thinks, our point is gained, that a wise 
man should be always happy. What ! though he should be deprived of 
the senses of seeing and hearing ? Yes : for he holds those things very 
cheap. For, in the first place, what are th« pleasures we are deprived of 
by that dreadful thing, blindness? For though they allow other pleasures 
to be confined to the senses, yet what are perceived by the sight do not 
depend wholly on the pleasure the eyes receive ; as when we taste, smell 
touch, or hear ; in all these, the organs themselves are the seat of pleas- 
ure ; but it is not so with the oyes. The mind is entertained by what w* 
see ; but the mind may be entertained many ways, though we could not 
see at all. I am speaking of a learned and wise man, with whom to think 
is to live. But thinking with a wise man doth not altogether require tl 
of his eyes in his investigations: fur if night doth not strip him of his 
happiness, why should blindness, which resembles night, have that' 
For the reply of Antipater the Oyrcnaic to some women who bewailed his 
being blind, though it is a little too obscene, had no bad meaning. "What do 
you mean," saith he ; "do you think the night can furnish no pleasure?" 
And we find by his magistracies and his actions, that old Appius too, who 
was blind many years, was not prevented from doing whatever was 
quired of him, with respect to the public or his own affairs. It is said that 
0. Drusus's house was crowded with clients. When they, whose business 
it was, could not see how to conduct themselves, they applied to a blind 
guide. 

XXXIX. When I was a boy. Cn. Aufidius. .1 blind man. who had serv- 
ed the office of praetor, not only gave his opinion in the senate, 
ready to assist his friends, but wrote a Greek !.. - 
into literature. Piodorus the Stoic was blind, and lived many 



OP CICERO. 117 

my house. He indeed, which is scarce credible, besides applying himself 
more than usual to philosophy, and playing on the flute agreeably to the 
custom of the Pythagoreans, and having books read to him night and day, 
in all which he did not want eyes, contrived to teach geometry, which 
one would think could hardly be done without the assistance of eyes, tell- 
ing his scholars how and where to describe every line. They relate of 
Asclepiades, no obscure Eretric philosopher, when one asked him what 
inconveniences he suffered from his blindness, that his reply was, "He 
was at the expense of another servant." So that, as the most extreme 
poverty may be borne, if you please, as is daily the case with some in 
Greece ; so blindness may easily be borne, provided you have the proper 
supports of health. Democritus was so blind he could not distinguish 
white from black*, but he knew the difference betwixt good and evil, just 
and unjust, honest and base, the useful and useless, great and small. Thus 
one may live happily without distinguishing colors ; but witho&t acquain- 
ting yourself with things, you cannot ; and this man was of opinion, that 
the intense application of the mind was taken off by the objects that pre- 
sented themselves to the eye, and while others often could not see what 
was before their feet, he travelled through all infinity. It is reported al- 
so that Homer was blind, but we observe his painting, as well as his po- 
etry. What country, what coast, what part of Greece, what military, at- 
tacks, what dispositions of battle, what army, what ship, what motions of 
men and animals, has he not so described as to make us see what he 
could not see himself? What, then, can we imagine Homer, or any other 
learned man, can want to entertain his mind ? Were it not so, would Anr 
axagoras, or this very Democritus, have left their estates and patrimonies, 
and given themselves up to the pursuit of acquiring this divine entertain? 
ment? It is thus that the poets, who have represented Tiresias the Augur 
as a wise man, blind, never exhibit him as bewailing his blindness. But 
as Homer had described Polypheme as a monster and a wild man, he re- 
presents him talking with his ram, and speaking of his good fortune, that 
he could go wherever he pleased and touch what he would. And so far 
ho was right, for that Cyclops was of much the same understanding with 
his ram. 

XL. Now as to the evil of being deaf; M. Crassus was a little thick of 
hearing : but it was more uneasiness to him that he heard himself ill spo- 
ken of; though, in my opinion, without reason. Our Epicureans cannot un- 
derstand Greek, nor the Greeks Latin ; now, they are deaf reciprocally as 
to each other's language, and we are all truly deaf with regard to these 
innumerable languages which we do not understand.. They do not hear 
the voice of the harper, but then they do not hear the grating of a saw 
when it is setting, or the grunting of a hog when his throat is cutting, nor 
the roaring of the sea when they are desirous of rest. And if they should 
chance to be fond of singing, they ought, in the first place, to consider 
that many wise men lived happily before music was discovered ; besides, 
they may have more pleasure in reading verses, than in hearing them 
sung. Then, as I before referred the blind to the pleasures of hearing, so 



118 THB Ttf&CVLAS DISPUTATIONS OF CICERO. 

I may the deaf te -the pleasures of sight : moreover, whoever can converse 
with himself doth not need the conversation of another. But supposing 
all these misfortunes to meet in one person : suppose him blind and deaf, 
let him »be afflicted with the sharpest pains of the body, which, in the first 
place, generally of themselves make an end of him : but should they con- 
tinue so long, and the pain be so exquisite, that there should be no reason 
for 'tearing them, why, good gods, should we be under any difficulty ? For 
fihere is a retreat at hand ; — death is that retreat — a shelter where we 
*hall for ever be insensible. Theodorus said to Lysimachus, who threat- 
ened him with death, " It is a great matter indeed for you to do what 
cantharidescan." When Perses entreated Paulusnot to lead him in triumph, 
" That is as you please," said Paulus. I said many things of death in 
our first day's disputation, when death was the subject ; and not a little 
the next day, when I treated of pain ; which things if you recollect, there 
can be no danger of yo*r locking upon death as undesirable, or at least 
it will not be dreadful. 

XLI. That custom in force with the Grecians at their baaqaets, should, 
in my opinion, take place in lifec Drink, say they, or leave the company; 
and right enough : let him either enjoy the pleasure of drinking with 
others, or not stay till he meets with affronts from those tfcat are in liquor. 
Thus those injuries of fortune yon. can»ot bear, you should leave. This 
is the very same which is caid by Epicurus and Hieroaymus. Now if 
those philosophers, whose opinion it is that virtue has no power of itself, 
and who say that what we denominate honest and laudable imply nothing 
and are only set off witii a» unmeaning sound ; can they nevertheless 
maintain that a wise wan is always happy ? You see what may be done 
by the Socratic and Platonic philosophers. Some of these allow such su- 
periority to the goods of tke mind, as quite to eclipse what concerns the 
body and all accidental circumstances. B«t others do not admit these to 
be goods ; they repose all in the mind : whose disputes Carneades used, 
as an honorary arbitrator, to determine. For as what seemed goods to 
the Peripatetics, were allowed to be advantages by the Stoics: and as the 
Peripatetics allowed no more to riches, good health, and other thing9 of 
that sort, than the Stoics ; when these things were considered according 
to their reality, not by more report ; his opiaiou was, that there was no 
ground for disagreeing : therefore let the philosophers, that hold other 
tenets, see how they may carry this point It is very agreeable to me 
£hat they make some professions worthy the mouth of a philosopher, with 
regard to a man's having always the means of living happily. 

XLII. But as we are to depart in the morning, let us remember I 
iive days' disputations, though indeed, I think, I shall write them : for how 
oan I better employ the leisure I have, whatever it be owing to ? and I 
will send these other five boofcp to my Brutus ; by whom I was not only 
incited to write on philosophy, but provoked. In which it is not easy to 
say what service I may be of to* others : but in my own various and acute 
afflictions which surrounded me on all sides, I could find no better solace 



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